Play
by x0x.RunnSmackkintoYouu.x0x
Summary: /He gazed up at me singing "I'll wear you like a Christmas sweater," winked, and finished off with a whammy. A quick breath and he switched his mic off. "How was I?" "Good," I croaked my eyes watering. My God, I was too in love with this man. He made breathing difficult. And even so he hadn't seemed to notice my distress.\\ Niley
1. My Prologue

**A/N: Little oneshot I wrote for fun. **

* * *

><p><span>LAST NIGHT<span>

My eyelids felt hot when I gained consciousness. The burning made it to hard to keep them shut. Sleep was done, I realized.

I opened them and found light…and dust…and triceps. Dense, tan triceps and when my eyes traveled up and around, I found no shirt. Just more skin and more muscle. The rest of my senses kicked in and I breathed in the faint smell of cologne and an alcohol-drool blend. I looked directly up. A man.

Shit. Just as I thought. A man. A man who had probably assumed I'd be asleep when he woke, making it easier for him to leave. He had to.

_I am__ his producer and he has to go. _Thud. _I am his producer and he has to go._ Thud-thud.

Ohh, damn. His heart. It even beats perfectly. I stared at the source: his chest. It was beautifully sculpted like the rest of his body. Little Goosebumps arrived from me breathing on him and two other 'friends', tanner and chillier, came out to play. I giggled to myself quietly as possible and watched him stir. A smooth 'Mmm' came from his lips.

"G'morning."

"Ah!" I said. "Oh…Lucas." I was breathless. He was flawless. His voice scared the demons out of me. Nothing was a sin any longer. Abstinence was wildly overrated and drinking was heavenly. So, last night, was…just amazing.

"Call me Nick." He told me.

"Mr. Lucas," I was stern this time. No way was I calling a stranger by his first name. "I think it's time you go."

He stirred once more and rolled to his back. He put his hands to his tummy and laced his fingers. "Hm," he said, "You wouldn't like that now would you, Miss. Miley?"

I blushed so hard I thought the blood from face would pour out to sheets. Miss Miley, Miss Miley. Dear God, why? So unprofessional it was reviving. Where was my boss when I wanted him?

"Actually, I would. Last night was—" Remarkable? Astounding? Enthralling? "wrong. And irresponsible, and stupid, and so, _so_ wrong." I finished.

Why the hell was I lying? It was the best night of my life! Him on me was like…_him on me_! And yet it was a million times better than I'd ever imagined.

Mr. Lucas looked at me and I didn't dare to look back. Not yet. "Oh really?" he teased, "Because something so, _so_ wrong couldn't possibly have you screaming my name _all __night __lonngg_."

My face lit fire and so did behind my eyes. The rest of me went numb and all I could feel was burning.

"Ohhhhh, Nicholas! Oooaahh…uh, Nick, uhh! Yes!"

Hot! Hot! Oh my God, no! I got up real quick and bolted into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and breaking down against it. I cried and sobbed and told myself what an embarrassment I was for having a fling with a client. How was this ever going to stay a secret? He isn't ever going to take me seriously now.

I felt two knocks on my back.

"Miley?" Nick sighed. "Miley, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you feel…stupid. I screwed up. It's okay; everything that happened last night was not your fault."

I smiled a bit.

He knocked again. "You've got a cute butt." He chuckles, "Any man would screw up for butt like that."


	2. Chapter One

Perhaps I should make it known how this begun. It just seemed...more interesting...to start you off at the Morning After.

My name is Miley Stewart-Blakeley, and I own a label by the name of HIDEOUT.

- x. 0. x -

To play: to engage in activity for **enjoy**ment and recreation, to amuse oneself by engaging in **imagine**ative pretense, to treat in**consider**ately for one's own amusement...or—in my case—the way **media** covers a story.

- x.0.x -

I lied. I don't own HIDEOUT, my ex-husband does.

"Ms. Blakeley?"

"Yes, Harper,"

"Taylor's going out with Owen."

I sighed. "I know, Harper." Incompetence.

"No, she's _going__**out**_ with Owen."

"What?"

She handed me FL4ME a marker-stamped page. And there it was. Taylor stoned out fuck with her 41 year-old 'Superman'.

I worked in PR.

"Damnit, Taylor! Geez, we told her, did we not?"

"We told her."

"Ugh!" I threw the tabloid to the ground. "This is what we get for signing teenagers! Little, moody, rebellious _brats_!" I stomped off, passing Justin Russo with my Peppermint Mocha, and locked myself in my office.

Safe. A look to the left, a look to the right. "Yes, yes, yes!" I slammed my blue folder down on my desk and did a dance. "I love my jooobbb! I love my jobbbb!" I sang, "Go, Taylor; get it, Taylor! Go, Taylor; get it, Taylor!" She was wonderful! I danced around the chairs and shelves.

Two knocks. "Ms. Blakeley?"

I stopped

Justin.

"In a minute!"

I threw myself into my chair and squeezed my eyes shut. Truth be told, I love my job. I love my artists. Being a publicist... it's amazing. It's thrilling, it's exciting. I'm Perez Hilton's Perez Hilton. I take his stories and place a sweeter one on top. There's nothing more exciting than having a client in a scandal—e_specially_with America's Sweetheart, Taylor Taylor. She's just sweet enough, just nice enough, just wealthy-rooted enough, for a fuck-buddy relash with drugged-up, rock star nearly 17 years her senior to be gold. That's where I come in.

The phone rings. "Hold on, Russo! HIDEOUT Public Relations Department: M. Blakeley speaking."

"It's Jason."

_Hola!_"Hello, Jason." I began to twirl my hair.

"Hey," He snapped. He wanted to cut the chase; the breathing proved it. "Taylor Taylor and Owen Axel...Marijuanna?"

"I don't know," I played.

He cursed. "Okay, 2 pages on the next album."

"Make it a cover story."

"Sure,"

"And add her Pretty Girl ad."

"Of course,"

"On the_inside cover_."

Jason sighed. I was frustrating. "Ms. Stewart,"

"Mr. LA Weekly." I mocked.

The other side of being a publicist: selling your client out. It's not complicated. Everyone's looking for a scoop, a source. It's just...how much are they willing to pay? What do _we_ get out of the deal?

It's simple: LA Weekly starts with a...down payment. And in a month's time of building "trust", we tell them scoops, secrets, give 'em "rare" photographs, and in return, well, our clients get publicity. Of course, being a source _and_ a publicist, I control how the story goes. Four years obtaining a MBA couldn't go completely to waste.

"Okay, it's done." Jason gave in. He always did.

"Also, prepare for a relash." I grabbed my pen. "Russo! Mocha!" He had been waiting too long outside.

Jason continued, "...What if Taylen are still together?"

I let out a chiming laugh. "It's Owen _Axel_. She's…_Taylor_. I give 'em 12 weeks, 18 maximum."

"Can't wait for the song, can you?" He snickered in the phone.

I smirked. "No personal questions, please. Russo!"

"Soooo? Spill."

I ho-hummed. "Fine. Six-week affair, Tay went back and forth between Axel and Hunter Gray. They flirted for_ever, _Axe finally got her last month, she dumped Hunter. ...Jase, you can guess the rest. Her dad wants to kill him, I'm pissed off, and he's hitting it like the back of a jam jar."

Jason of LA Weekly laughed. "You're funny, Stewart." And it wasn't the laugh I was comfortable with.

"Whatever. RUSSO!"

Jason Whatever liked me. That was certain. We'd seen each other once at the Grammy's, barely said anything to one another, but we'd spent enough time on the phone, gossiping on HIDEOUT's roster, we knew things about each other. In the 200 minutes we've talked, his ex-wife Lydia had contact lenses she usually left, his daughter Sophie had a bunny Tomagotchi and his dog Hamlet was a barker…And so was his boss: editor, Rich.

Justin Russo entered with my Mocha. "Here, ma'am."

I may have slipped Will and I were getting divorced and because of that, Jason of LA Weekly is the only one who knows. The only one that calls me_ Stewart_. And because I'm getting divorce, _I _can call myself Stewart. Not even my mum would call me Stewart if she knew. I have a crazy, psycho habit and the denial would eat my mother alive.

Overall, you could say Jason's the only person I confide in.

Only...he's not.

Because I don't really.

My job is everything. No time for buddies.

Jason asked to change the subject. I could see his blush fading in my mind: "So it _was_ weed?"

I mouthed a thanks to my assistant and shooed him off. "Most definitely…and probably coke."

"Coke? Tay has a history?" I sparked his attention.

"Not at all." And there it went. "She's crazy impressionable, though."

I sipped my drink. _Mmm, peppermint_.

"And he's music's Charlie Sheen..."

"Winning!" I said and slammed the phone down.


	3. Chapter Two

I ride the bus and then a subway to get home. It's too much trouble to ask Will. I hate to swallow my pride. I _can_ be dependent on myself; a young, single, working New Yorker woman should. Though I do wish I'd taken _my_ car this morning. Helping the environment in New York winter isn't fun. I have to ration to myself (I'm not Sheryl Crow.) to maintain some stimulus.

I shuddered and I shoved my hands in my coat pockets, frowning to lower my knit hat. I love you, Venairo Claire.

I'll be real, the "friendship"—Whoa, pedestrian!—Will and I have is completely fictional. My ex is in a maladaptive daydream in which he and I can live together after splitting up. Sleep in the same bed after splitting up; lie to our families after splitting up. And we do. Not comfortably, but we do.

This is allowed because we had the perfect _"Movie Romance"_—Shut up, cabbie! It was 2002 and I was 16 and spending my teen years with my dad in North Carolina (my parents are together; I followed him on business.) I met Will Blakeley on the beach. He took his shirt off for his daily volleyball game and it was 'love' at first sight. He stole me out for burgers, told me his _lineage_ and dreams and I was sold. My parents loved the little drummer boy. He's classy, intelligent, wealthy, hot. There was _nothing_ wrong with him.

We both attended the same university and at 22, his father invested in our project: a record label.

"Sorry."

"It's fine."

I never wanted HIDEOUT to be _big_ label. Will on the other hand…did. He didn't _do_ indie, but we don't _raise_ sell-outs. _Liars_, but not sell-outs. If it were up to me, Kesha would not be a rapper and Katy Perry would not have cream shooting out of her breasts. I had to talk Will out of striking a deal with Universal Music multiple times!

In defense of Taylor Taylor, she was our little accident. A pop label had just dropped her for development reasons and her and her family went Tennessee-wide looking for a big label. It wasn't until Taylor went to visit her college boyfriend Jamie in NYC that Blaze came across her playing right in front of our crappy pre-funding warehouse and Will began to drool like a Hyena in front of deforestation remains.

The blonde gazelle was pushed in, signed, and her first named was doubled in two days. Will's rules: You're poor and a virgin and you better not oppose the image. Taylor Dafford: our little pop star, my little paycheck.

After a year—don't call it _fighting_—debating, after getting knocked down for the chief-team, , after Will's peeved, amber eyes (all of which I had received sticking up for _"our"_ artists) I just fell out of love with him.

It wasn't what I thought it would be. Not that I didn't expect Monster Will to surface sometime, but the reality hurts more than the intuition. Taylor and the others shut up and Will fell out of love after, and like the business people we were, we decided to keep it a secret. Sadly, I know enough about twisting things, I never really have to be honest.

My phone beeped.

I pulled the iPhone from my pocket and little the screen. Little snowflakes fell on a singer's face. I smiled.

"Hey, Taylor." I spoke.

"I am so fucked." She whined and I heard her splash onto a bed.

"Have you no faith in me? I got you, lady. " I said, entering the station. I shook my body free of snow and the girl huffed.

"Did you make Owey look bad?" she asked in her best baby voice.

Owey? Gag. Sometimes I forget Taylor's a teenage girl. _Actually_ in love with Mr. McHumper. "Uhm..."

"Did you?" she was desperate.

"Honey, there is _no_ way to gloss a 41 year old man giving a teenage girl drugs. I mean the sex I could get diplomatic with, but drugs? Sweetie, I'm not a miracle worker."

"What if I said it was mine?"

"Whoa!" Don't make my job harder now.

The second subway pulled away.

"N-no. Look, sweetie, Axel admits he's a user, and—"

"I told him he'd be okay," Taylor countered. "Miley, it's not what they think it is. He's sweet and smart, he's just...complicated. You know, the time…"

Em and G on an acoustic caught my ears. For a second I thought Taylor was playing, but she was too busy rambling crap about the 1997 Grammys. I was no longer listening. Homegirl wasn't old enough to _spell_ Grammys when he won.

"Who _is_ that?" I looked around the station and right ahead was my answer. As the bus pulled its tail along, a guitarist came into sight. Dawned in a fedora, a flannel and an Ibanez he was perfect. I hung up the phone. He played a song with his guitar case open for tips. Focused on the chords, he never looked up, and his shaking, brown curls made a huge statement:

Amateur.

He sang a song of a traumatized young girl, the product of two teenagers, who spent too much time alone in a garden of roses—probably cutting. Surprisingly, the rooky was good. The product was solid. The voice needed definite work, but he was crafty enough lyrics to get 4 dollars and 75 cents...and an invitation to prom. I walked toward my terminal.

Or at least I thought I did because by he removed his capo and I was right in front of him. "Do the pedals fall on her?" I spoke almost robotically.

He looked up. Brown eyes. A beard. A smile. He was Jesus. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Your song. The girl. Is she real?"

His smile spread like frosting on a hot pastry. "Maybe," he said. "What do you care?"

I went pink. "I just do. Curiosity strikes at least nine times, right?"

Shit, I was flirting. And what a stupid statement I'd started with! With a _hair bounce! _What was I, a hooker?

"It's my ex," He revealed.

_Damn._ "Ouch. How long's it been?" _Please be awhile._

"6 months."

_Damn!_ "6 _months_?"

He ruffled his curls. "We were together five years..." he justified and looked back at the strings. "Well, _almost_." He cleared his throat.

I swung on my toes, feeling uncomfortable now. "Oh," Five years. Just like my marriage. I was never good dealing with other's pain.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I, uhh," I coughed and gagged the rest: "got divorced."

He gazed up at me and his eyes planets and I was his goddess. He had admiration. Real boy-like admiration. I, on the other hand felt disgusting.

"Thanks," He said.

"Yeah,"

He blushed and his eyes wandered over my shoulder. He frowned then looked at my ticket. "Isn't _that_ your train?" he asked, pointing.

"Huh?" I looked back. Yeah, shucks. "Yeah, shucks. Uhh," I dipped into my purse and pulled out a business card. "I work for a record company, if you're interested."

Deer in my headlights again. Must'a thought I was bullcrapping by now. He took the card, regardless. "Okay…Miley."

"Okay…Um," _Walk away now._ "I hope you call!" I blurted.

_I hope you call?_

- x. 0. x -

"I got a call from Sixth String." Will told me as he waltzed out of the apartment bathroom naked. Why did he _insist_ we talk work all hours of the day? I give anything just to ride him and shut him up.

"And?" I said, shoving a chicken-ball into my mouth.

"They don't like your story." He ratted, giving me a look. The 'You're a Slob When You Eat the Leftover Chinese' side-eye. Hey, he had a white towel hanging from his pelvis! We were both classless.

"They said you made Axel look like a bad influence." he said as he sauntered into our kitchen and passed me. "And you did, little lady."

"Excuse me. Axel's _reflection_ is a bad influence!" I pointed out, red sauce pouring out of my mouth.

Will rolled his eyes with his bottle of water and came over. And as I reached for a napkin, he took off his towel "_to_ Axel..." and wiped my face with it.

"I know, sweetie." He used the wet detached towel to guide my face to his. _I hope he got my joke._

Nose-to-nose, he smirked. God, he was really hot, wasn't he? And naked before my eyes. "I know," He repeated and his green orbs took my heart and stamped his name over all. He smiled and sealed the deal.

"You are so fuckin' hot." I lost my voice sexily by sheer accident.

"You," He laughed.

"Shut up!" I kissed him. Hard and wet and eager for the sheets. I hopped aboard him and straddled, running my fingers down his sweet spots.

He groaned.

My phone rung.

"Wait!" I shot, and threw us against a wall. I pulled my phone out of my falling pants, and hit the answer. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. Nick."

Guy from the subway station! Shit!

Joke it off, Stewart! "Hey, it's nighttime." I mocked playfully. Will looked so confused.

"I know, I know. I just wanted to know I could schedule a meeting."

"Now?" When I'm getting naked with the man I told you I wasn't fucking anymore? When I flirted with you just two pretty hours ago?

"Yeah, yeah. I work night shifts at a warehouse. I sleep most'a the day; I wouldn't be able to contact anyone. What do you say? I take the day off? Meeting at 1 PM?"

"Uhh," Fuck. "Sure. I don't work A&R so you'll be meeting with Will or Blaze, alright?"

"_Oh._Then, why'd you give me your num-?"

"Goodnight, Sir." I dropped the phone and touched Will. "Now where were we?"

"Not handling work." He giggled.

Huh. Maybe there was some soul left.


	4. Chapter Three

**A/n: Double update cuz I loafed hard. I love you.**

* * *

><p>"Good morning,"<p>

_Mm._ I hear Will's voice in baritone, still half asleep. I was surprised, to be honest; he hadn't sung in months. It was sweet and warm—almost sticky on my ear.

Speaking of _such_ things, last night was flipping incredible. I hadn't been so thrown-off since our wedding. I missed it. The white-veiled night played in my mind. "Good morning" over Seal's "Kiss from a Rose", "Good morning" over R Kelly's "Honey Love."

"Good morning," he sang again, a hand on my ass.

Finally opening my eyes, I gazed around the hazy room. My clothes were sprawled about it, my panties were low on the holiday decoration box and white slush hung on the windows, cooling my mind down. Sleeping on the floor never felt so good.

He was an animal. How could I forget he was an animal?

Using my right brain, I ran a hand down Will's tummy. "Morning, Santa." I hummed.

He slipped his own free hand into my hair and mused. "I made breakfast," he professed.

"What?" I cracked and I could feel the smile spreading across my face. "You didn't even get up." My voice cracked again with the happy. So stupid.

"I came back," He chuckled at my grogginess and kissed my head. "I made pancakes. And I scrambled your eggs."

I hummed. "With ketchup at the side?"

"You wouldn't have it any other way, would you?"

I loved him.

Will flipped to his side and I was tossed to my tummy in an instant. He laughed again. "Upsy daisy, babe" with a kiss.

- x. 0. x -

Demi Munro was in recording when I peeped through the door glass. I needed to speak to her producer.

_"So won't you fall in love with me, this Christmas; There's nothing else that I will need, this Christmas. Won't be wrapped under a tr-"_

"Stop, stop, stop!" Shock yelled into his mic. He wasn't impressed. I hated this side of work. I rethought entering the studio. The papers could wait.

Demi, 17, backed away from the booth mic. Her music stopped. She stared through the glass, baffled. "What's wrong?"

"Uh, why so...serious?" Mr. Sam "Shock" Topher ran a hand through his hair and tried to find the sheet music.

The singer frowned. "It's a _love_ song."

"Yea, yeah. I'm just—Can we go a little faster? Happier, sexier?"

"No!" We said in unison as I walked into the room.

The producer sighed, frustrated with the second dose of estrogen. "Look, it sounds...vacant as a solo ballad. Either we speed it up or get a dick on board. It's crunch time; this album's due 6AM tomorrow. No time to switch songs."

I looked at the clock. Cheap Christmas lights hung 'round the studio shed dull red on the hour hand. November 24th. 13:13. We _were_ running out of time.

I brought my hand to my chin. "Just...be patient. She's talented." I looked Demetria's direction, gave her a wink. She smiled. I got everyone's back.

..._Except_ Shock Topher's. He still frowned.

Pursing my lips in the awkwardness, I fixed the papers. "Will wants to you sign these. Send 'em to Ginger when you're done."

He hissed. "Just sing, Demi." And I was ignored.

I dropped the package and walked out.

Making it to the hall, I paused. Music. And that Michael Buble-Steven Tyler-Justin Bieber mix. Nick. Singing a song about life and pounding on a keyboard. So...not Will. Not deep, not soothing, not perfect..._but_ beautiful. I had to get closer. I sped the hall, stole a left and before I knew it I was at the end of the stairs I hit a door.

_Ouch, boobs. _I tapped my girls, hating being a shorty, and rose to my absolute tip toes. Yep, A&R.

And there he was, looking like Jesus, the bass in his voice thundering under me, massaging my toes. Pleasure.

He finished off with his "Vesper's Goodbye" and Will and Blaze looked up from their papers. I moved sideways. "Crap." Pressing my ear against the door I begged: _Please like it!_

"I like you," I hear Blaze. _Thank you, Galadriel._ "I think your song is _ridiculously corny_, but you're solid."

Fair enough.

"I feel the same." Will. "You sure seem to be a catch. Where did you say you were schooled again?"

His tone had an edge. Did he know?

"North Texas U."

Know what? Will was my husband. Liking a guy's voice is nothing.

University of music. Interesting. Then, why is it you're a _street_ musician?"

Yeah?

Nick tapped his foot one time. "Personal reasons. Preference." He said it fast. Will made him nervous. And it _was_ personal; I could sense it. "I just like the station," he explained better, "So-," a sigh of ecstasy, forgetting the pressure. "Real."

"Really?"

"Yup. And fantastic acoustics!" He joked.

Blaze laughed and Will stopped her. "I'm gonna guess your demographic." My husband said, getting annoyed with the boyish charm that riled me in.

Nick's head bobbed. "Okay, guess my demographic."

"Single women."

"Well—"

"Single women."

"Yeah."

"_Young_, single women?" Will pressed.

"Well, I'm 25. 17 plus, I guess." He was getting uncomfortable.

"_Twelve_ plus." Will declared. "With that look and those lyrics, 12 plus."

"Okay." Nick said, now disheartened. He had obviously never sold himself before.

He became Will's putty within 6 minutes of English. I had had enough.

"Hi, guys!" I threw the door open and walked into the room, chest puffed and eyes locked.

"Miley!" Will almost cheered, but his eyes quickly told me I wasn't needed.

Douchebag.

"Will!" I approached the hug wickedly and shook his hand, then bent my extended arm and I planted a big, wet one on his cheek. His jaw hardened under his scruff. He was peeved. I loved it.

I retracted.

"Anyway," Will cringed with a deep breath. "I was just going to tell Nicholas Lukäs about you. Nick, this is Miley Blakeley, your publicist."

"Blakeley?" Nick frowned. "You said—"

"I say a lot!"

Will had caught on just then. And he wasn't happy. "Well," he gasped. "y'all are having dinner tomorrow night, talking his direction. So, say a _lot!_" My husband clasped his hands together and walked away. "...Honey."

"Will, wait!" He left.

The door slammed shut and I tried my best to breathe in those three following moments. I turned to Lukäs. "So seven?" I offered with a choke.

"Sure," He seemed half unfazed.

"Okay." I nodded and walked out of the room.


	5. Chapter Four

"You are _truly_ an embarrassment." I whispered to myself. I was French braiding my own hair and having female conversation with a L'Oreal bottle. Where were my friends?

Certainly not in this skunk of a city. A sadness of missing North Carolina shot through me. "But tonight," I said as a promise, I would start fresh. The New York was magical when I made it. My artists showed me so.

I made a to-do list: 1. Get Lukäs on HIDEOUT, and then, go for a be—martini. Yeah, a martini. That'll get me a New York girlfriend. But I pre-felt the alcohol on my tongue, making me drunk, breaking my conscience. Yick. No. No good. "Maybe a ginger ale, Miley. I'll make friends with a grandma."

I looked much too sexy though for either though. I cocked my head left at the glass, felt my tits and smoothed the creases on my Herve Leger mini. Yup, too sexy, I decided. I tippied to the closet (my nails done green) and grabbed a blazer, threw it on. Again?

Too sexy.

I concluded it was simply the dress. I stripped bare and went for my black Jupiter suit. The blazer again and took a look. Nice. Decent.

Professional.

I placed my loose hairs and just as I withdrew Will's phone went off. Sexy and I Know It. I smirked all-silly at the song, reached and—froze.

I remembered.

It wasn't mine to check. We weren't _married_. His calls weren't my calls. I let it sit and heaved a sigh and the four-hour lump in my throat shot up from its nap.

The air around HIDEOUT after Will left A&R was tense yesterday. He stormed around the floors for a half hour and then he went outside with a Nestea and nobody had seen him since. I came home answering Taylor-Axel questions at four and Will hadn't appeared. He was AWOL at work the next day too. I was worried…

Until Will did, however, show up in my mirror twenty to seven…right before my meeting with Lukäs.

"You," he said smally, extending an arm to my reflection. "look good."

I whipped my head his direction. Was he was being genuine or spiteful in order to guilt me? I was going out to dinner with another man, after all. And I would leave with his HIDEOUT credit card in 3 minutes. Why we still shared was mystery. I guess I wanted to get back together at some point. Although, since he avoided me for 54 straight hours, I knew it wasn't

"Thank you, Will." I said smally back.

He came over to the dresser and watched his phone and then me. Had I touched it? he wondered. It was a short glance. I pretended I didn't notice. He stared at the missed call He looked at me suspiciously again. I pretended not to notice again. Will then went into his pants for his wallet.

"I need—"

He pulled out his HIDEOUT card. "Have fun," and he _gave_ me the card.

"Wow," My breath was taken a little. "Thanks."

"Get him dessert, too." he said. "Take his time."

"You serious?"

"Uh huh." He wheeled around, the lying smile already faded.

"Well, uh," I slipped my feet into heels on the other side of the room and grabbed my keys. "Thanks."

"No problem. Goodbye."

I blanked. Damn. Sharp.

"…Bye," I said thinly and I shut the door behind me.

The Goodbye haunted me to the coat rack, the elevator and even the parking lot. What tone was that? Was he jealous; was he mad, was he hiding something? Was the card maxed out? I slipped into my hardly touched Lexus and hit the interior lights. Christmas lights up on balconies shone clearer. I smiled. My least favourite time of year was pretty cute. I flipped open the mirror quickly to catch a glimpse of the grin. Wow. It made my makeup better. I return to neutral. Yuck. I shut the flip out. I take a sharp breath out at start the car.

- x. 0. x -

"Hello, Ms. Blakeley," the restaurant doorman greeted professionally and pulled the mahogany enter door open. I fidget with a loose thread on my glove and proceed mindlessly.

"New client?" he asked.

I ignored him.

"Hello, Ms. Blakeley," the reservation man greeted even more professionally. "You're right on time for your Seven O'clock for Two."

"Thank you, Sir."

He takes my coat, hat and mitts and leads me to my table, a private booth in the upper deck. It was a balcony-esque spot with a panoramic view of people eating and celebrating. The round table was covered in ivory cloth and a sort of nightlight sat as a centrepiece. Two empty appetizer dishes, two drink-less cups with limes in the bottoms; two red, empty, velvet chairs.

I sat and the man disappeared.

Ho-hum. Immersed in the silence of being 17 feet above ground, I decided to pull out my tablet, start a file on Lukäs with what I knew from A&R. Name. Age. Marital status. I gazed down the balcony repeatedly and the _thousandth_ time I saw him walk in. The men did their routine, but Nick Lukäs had rejected the escort. He was coming alone.

Cock-passing right off the bat! I locked my tablet to make a mirror and checked my teeth for lipstick. All clear.

Nick ascended the stairs to the balcony rather slow. Because of this, I stood up much too early and far too long, but he turned off the banister top and it was all worth it. He looked like a prince in his cheap, navy suit. A scrapping middle-class prince.

"Hi" and we did a handshake. "Nick…again." The corner of his lips itched up and my knees nearly buckled under me. How enchanting, Taylor-Taylor would say in her pretty mind. God, I was such a school girl! Quoting a teen-pop artist.

We sat down.

"So," Nick said, smoothing his pant legs. I did the same…except to wipe my sweat.

"I'm not quite familiar with this. What do we do besides eat together?"

He was truly a rookie. "We're just going to talk. All innocent." I explained. _All innocent._

I flicked the tablet on and began: "All right. Will explains to me you wanna be the next Owen Axel."

"Ahh, your _husband_." He was lacing his own fingers on the table. He tapped his own hands.

"No personal questions." I made clear.

"Oh, come on! I know you're still together."

I seethed, getting very embarrassed, "No personal questions."

"That wasn't a question. That was an accusation. I think a _publicist_ would know that."

"Well, I do know that." So ha!

"Right," Nick rolled his eyes. "So does he know you hit on me?"

"What!" I came.

"Your husband. Does he know?"

"There's nothing _to_ know. I was curious." I half-lied. "My job is relationships. You can't blame me."

"Good evening." The waiter appeared with a pitcher of water to fill my cup. He poured and Lukäs stared to distract himself from my—now _usual_—crap. _Why did he have to be so cute? _His glass was next but he'd rather watch my lime slice rock.

The waiter disappeared and I pushed my ice and lime with my straw. Give Lukäs some variety.

"I like your dress." He announced minutes later when he found something to say. This was a new tone. "It's different."

"It's called a Jupiter suit." I informed him. I looked down at my clothing like most women did when they were complimented. It seemed standard. And it seemed to break the ice between us, too.

We looked at each other and it was an odd stare. A stare that brought butterflies to my stomach and too much blood to my cheeks. I imagined it happening someday with Jason of LA Weekly, even though I didn't like him. Here I was with somebody I did like. I was falling uncontrollably and surprisingly I didn't want to stop it. And from that moment forward I completely forgot what we were here for. It was 2002 with a different guy.

"So you like music, or…?"

"Oh, yeah," I was quick to answer Lukäs now. "I actually wanted to be a singer 'till I was twenty." I confessed. Tingles raised in my tummy…but I didn't want to vomit. Talking about my dream of being a pop star usually made me want to vomit.

"What happened?" He asked. He was leaned forward now, arms cross on the table. Bad etiquette. Good date manners.

I shook my head. "It wasn't for me. I mean, I love music and singing and art, but, there is something just…_electric_ about being behind the scenes." I pinkened just thinking of it. "You get the brunt of the energy, really. You're the first one to know if a client goes platinum, or makes a magazine cover, or falls in love. It's amazing. PR just took me away."

He understood. "Yeah…But don't you lie and stuff?"

I bit my lip. "See," I spoke and moved the tablet aside. "There's the joy an artist feels when a crowd waits outside of a venue, and that's good. But then there's the feeling of making the crowd happy—"

"You ready to order?" A waitress made me jump in my chair. She placed a basket of bread on the table.

"Uhm, I'll have a Beef A Cassa Steak and some onion rings." Nick said, looking at the menu.

I looked at it, too, and onion rings was not on the menu.

"And you, ma'am."

"A green salad. Thank you."

The waitress gave Nick one last funny look and disappeared.

I huffed in silence. "What was I talking about again?"

"You were defending being a liar."

"Oh, hush!" I said and threw a bread roll at Lukäs.

"Hey! I didn't say you were doing it _badly_." He smiled and ate the bread from off his shirt. "You are very diplomatic, Ms. _Stewart_."

"Thank you very much." I beamed back.

- x. 0. x -

Two and a half hours went by and Lukäs told me about his brothers and older sister. I told him about my older brothers and younger sister. He spoke of his university experience and I spoke of mine. He spoke of music tastes and I agreed. We concluded at once kangaroos were the hardest to approach, tuition fees were much too high and that Canadian hip-hop was wildly underrated. So wrapped up in the various topics, neither of us ended up eating. And what a blessed thing that was because my salad looked dreadful next to his Ruby Tuesdays worthy slop. We took the food to go.

I checked my phone in the street. 3 texts from Will. Ugh. Love that he texts he only when I'm out with someone else.

_Is Lukäs there yet. _– 7:03 PM

_Remind him of demo fees _– 7:06 PM

_Goin out with the guys. May be home, may not… Whatever. Night. _– 7:06.

Douche. I shook my head clear of mean thoughts and went back to my notifications. 3 texts from Will, 4 updates from HIDEOUT's Facebook and…_289_ articles of Client 1: Taylor-Taylor!

"Shit." I cursed out loud. More people must have knew about Taylor and Axel than I predicted.

"What's—"

"Shh!" I shut Lukäs up, hitting Notifications harshly. "_O_kay, Pop Tarts, CelebTalk, Holly Whore, Perez…!" I blew a sigh, unaware I'd spoken out loud in my stress. It happened. All I cared about in that moment was that damage control was possible. Nobody believed in gossip sites, at least not delusional tweenies. I had control but I had to be quick. And I probably have to call Sixth String Records.

FML. I hate other publicists. I'd be up until 4 AM and I knew it. 3 hours of sleep sucked. I liked scandal but not this! The worst I'd dealt with was cheating or an assault at a Laser Quest (You know who are you, buddy. Keep writing.) Never did I imagine a teenage girl and middle-aged man smoking hash would be such work. Damn me for laughing at the scandal seed.

"What's the matter?" Lukäs tried again.

I looked up to his 6ft tall standing. "Nothing, just…publicist issues."

"Ah." He nodded smally.

I hummed and ran a hand through a hair as I looked into the bare street. "Great."

I fucked up my French braid. Birthday boys walked out of the restaurant and eyed me like a circus goers. "What?" I snapped.

"You wanna go home?" Lukäs asked. He knew I was heated.

What a shame our night had ended with Taylor and Axel, as if I hadn't being trying to tame the shrub since October. I twisted my heels in the thin snow disheartened.

"We haven't talked my career yet." He mentioned

My head snapped up immediately. That was right. We hadn't. "God, I suck!" I shouted and stomped the ground.

"Hey, hey, hey." Lukäs soothed and put a strong arm around me. "It's fine. Breathe."

So I did.

"If you're not too busy, come over my apartment." He said and I stopped. "I've got a computer and…_semi_-wireless internet, and I got coffee or wine."

_Breathe, Stewart._ "Tea would be wonderful." I choked up.

So there we were in his shabby New York apartment. It was a cute little place. I could see where he'd be inspired. Framed portraits of Jimi Hendrix, The Beatles, Otis Redding and _Wile E. Coyote _(Yeah, I couldn't tell you why.) sat on the walls and along the baseboard were three acoustic guitars and a saxophone all on a black rack. The rack looked like it was polished more than the apartment it was in. The sax could blind God.

"Getting comfy?" Lukäs asked, throwing a tea bag into his old fashioned kettle.

"Uh-huh," I lied, snuggling into his couch deeper. God, how old was this thing? I picked my knees to huddle with my gadgets. My pupils lifted off the screens. Lukäs was looking at me, as I very well felt so, and smiling at my discomfort.

"You'll sink." He assured.

I rolled my eyes.

He came over with a kitty mug and handed me the streaming tea. I nodded in thanks. Lukäs decided to plop down next to me and out from his right side came a bottle of wine and a wine glass.

My face screwed. "You're gonna drink at a meeting?"

"You're off the clock." He said and poured him a glass.

I shook my head nuh-uh. "A publicist is never off the clock."

He perked his brows, faking concern. "That's what _crazies say_," he sang and took a slurp.

"Please," I hissed. I blew on my tea. "So, your talent…tell me about it."

He went shy and boyish again. I could tell he was going to a hassle to get on stage. Many things made him nervous. He even passed the tea with caution. "Well, I play guitar—"

"For how long?"

"10 years," he answered.

I was physically struck by the number. "Really?"

He blinked, surprised my neck could do such a twist. "Yeaaah."

"I didn't mean to be rude, you just play so—"

"Shy?"

_Thank God._

"I'm just nervous around people."

I frowned pulling the mug to my lips. I sipped and swallowed. "Why do you wanna be recording artist then?"

He shrugged innocently, took his swig of wine. "Those people don't know me. When I have a fan base I'll be comfortable."

"Do trial shows," I typed in and I side-eyed him. "_with_ strangers."

He blushed.

"Go on," I edged to hear the rest of his talents.

"I've played the piano since I was 8 and I been singing basically forever. The saxophone," He pointed to the thing. "just kind of happened." He said.

"Explain?"

"My friend had a jazz band and their saxophone player broke his arm wrestling. I always liked the instrument so I thought I'd learn."

"And?" I was curious to know how it worked out.

"I was fired," he laughed. "I was no good. But I kept at it and now I'm pretty decent."

"Hm." I typed the instruments. _Piano, guitar…_"Do you want the saxophone in your act?"

He pondered it. "Occasionally," he decided.

"'Kay." I typed. "Describe your music in two words I haven't used."

His perplexed face was too cute, his eyes splashed with tipsiness. "Real and…soothing."

"Describe your lyrics in two words."

"Thoughtful and straightforward."

"Describe your style in two words."

"Boy and man."

My eye brows perked. I typed that in. "…And describe yourself."

"Not what you see."

My fingers halted. I looked up. _"Not what you see."_ "What makes you say that?" I asked, incredulous. No artist told me that. It was always what you see is what you get. He was different. Weird, considering he felt so deeply when he sang.

"I don't know really."

Amazing. I pretended to reread what wasn't there. "You know when you write?" I ask-stated, going pink at the unknown.

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Common." I lied.

"I'm sure."

I tapped three times on the couch arm. Why was he so weird? And _sarcastic_? "So, tell me your secrets."

"Huh?"

Did he want to make a bad impression? "Tell me your past in entertainment. Singing, writing, work with other labels."

"I'd rather not."

He started back for the kitchen, his drink done.

I stared at him until he came back. He curled into his couch with ice in his cup, pouring his next share. Still no response.

I blinked. Was he serious? "Come on, I'm your publicist. Is it bad?"

"No." He responded lightly. I could tell I ticked him, though. "Just plan your little posters and commercials, okay?"

I squinted.

Nothing.

I sighed helplessly, placed my empty mug on the coffee table. "Look, I'm here to cater to you."

"No, you're not!" Nick Lukäs burst into a mean laugh. "You just came here make gossip!"

_Oh, shit._ I realized. _He was one of__** them**_. "I'm collecting info to make a public representation for artist identification." I defended calmly. Just as instructed by my professor of 2006.

"An _image._" He seethed. "You want an image!"

I threw my arms up, it being the best bet on keeping him calm.

"Ugh!" he shouted, doing the same. He stood up and stomped off, slamming the door to his bedroom.

Oh, the "I Don't Know I'm Cocky." The dreadful artist or politician who thinks they're so _fucking_ great: so talented, so personable, so "real" they can drop panties with no good—_polished_—side.

Julia Roberts is one of those people.

…Yeah.

But Nick Lukäs comes out his bedroom with a purple box. He doesn't look at me at first but he puts the box on the coffee table beside my mug and then does so. We lock eyes.

"So," Nick says expectantly. "Look."

"Oh!" and I do…and you wouldn't believe what I saw.


	6. Chapter Five

**Secrets Out. ;)**

* * *

><p>Nick's box had decade old kid pop posters rolled up tight. Seven or eight CD cases and a microphone nonsensically decorated in rainbow colours with a <em>sexually<em> huge windscreen. Three plum pairs of 1992 Doc Marten sneakers (size 3), countless Polaroids and shoe laces and about six VHS cassettes were in there too. And, oh my God, a caboodle! It was incredible. The nostalgia was almost overwhelming. I had had all these ridiculous things.

I reached into Nick's purple box of 90's magic and grabbed the biggest thing: a VHS case. The writing looked familiar. I flipped it right way.

"No," I gasped. I clasped a hand over my mouth. I had to.

Because there he was on that very cover, in those blue overalls and that bright red ball cap, posing like a…like a...

"You were B Boy!" I burst, crashing stomach first into a fit of laughter.

"Shhhh!"

"You were a B Boy of Siggy Street! Oh my God!"

"_Miley_," he whined.

"Me plus you/Me plus you/Put it all together and it feels brand new!" I bopped up and down on his couch and abruptly sunk right in, dropping the video down to the floor. I remembered the golden song.

"Okay, stop!" Nick said.

I sighed and caught some air—or tried "This…this is rich." I picked the cassette case up off the floor and flipped it over again to the back.

"_Popular and in demand! The heartthrobs with brain teasers are BACK!_"

Popular. It hit me. "This is it! This is your story!"

"The hell is it!" Nick snatched the video from my poor hands and threw it back on the table. "You tell _no one_ about this." He pointed a nasty hearted finger.

I pouted glumly, robbed of my genius plan. "O_kay_."

Wait! "You lied to me." I realized, pointing a finger back. "You said you've never met a publicist. You were a pop star!"

"Yeah, at _six_!" I received a directed at my stupidity. He sat on the coffee table, closing the box, not even a centimeter away from me. "My parents took care of it all." He said. "They handled the publicist."

"Oh." I spoke, feeling imbecilic.

"It was the most terrifying five years of my life: four to nine." He admits, shuddering.

I frowned. Was the industry this bad in the 90's? "Why?"

"Shit, Stewart. Shit went down." He nailed in. And that was that.

I didn't breathe for a moment. "Okay," I nearly whispered and pulled up the tablet. "Do not ask: childhood."

He lowered his head. "Thank you."

Hey, and while I'm at it: "Do you follow politics?"

"Um, no."

"Do not ask: politics."

"Hm," He caught on and stood, leaving me to type and going off to the kitchen with my dirty mug. The tap went off and dishes started clanking.

I drummed my nails on the screen restlessly. "So you _really_ don't wanna be the grown Nicky Chase?" I had to try. Just once more.

"No." Dishes clanked harder.

I huffed and stole a look at the cassette case again. I stared it, trying to recall all the _happier_ members of Siggy Street. Asian girl, nope; ginger, nope, black girl was…Danielle? And _Joey Marshal_! Ah, Joey Marshal. Cute, dreamy, dancing Joey. My face went red at his smirk. He was the cutest. Without a doubt.

Back _then_, anyway.

"Hey, Nick, 'you still know Joey Marshal?" I called into the kitchen. My eyes never left the raven haired 10-year-old on the paper case.

"Yes," Nick answered. "We're cousins."

"Really?"

The tap shut off.

Nick walked back into the room, lip pressed. "Huh uh," he said curtly. He sat down with a bottle. I noticed the label. Jack.

"Whoa, booze hound. That's the third drink tonight."

Lukäs made a cheer motion, "I like variety," and drank.

"What's your demographic again?" I half-joked even though he was gross.

"17 plus." He slurred.

"Fabulous." I half smiled. If I could ignore Will, he could too. Even if he was drunk, he was smart.

He went to the corner, grabbed an acoustic off the rack and sat back on the coffee table. "La la la," he sang nonsensically, strumming E_b_, A_b_ and Fm.

"Where do you work?" I came, trying to overpower the guitar noise.

"A JC Penny. Hm Hm Hm."

"Cool." I typed that in.

He snorted. "Thanks. My OCD comes in handy."

Sarcastic, funny, shy, easy ticked, seemingly clean, likes alcohol, big family, New Jersey native, O.C.D. I was making notes quick. But then Lukäs starts playing something that catches my ears.

_"So won't you fall in love with me, this Christmas; There's nothing else that I will need, this Christmas. Won't be wrapped under a tr-"_

"Cold December Night," I muttered. "Hey! One of our girls is singing that song for our Christmas record. She needs a dick."

He looked at me, brows crunched. "What?" He giggled.

I smirked. He was the dick. Glossy eyed and drunk, but he was it. "Come, come, come," I took his hand and stood.

He was frazzled. He drawed away. "What!" He came.

The alcoholic breath from his "Wh" surrounded me. He went from cute to toxic and disguising in three seconds. _Ew, ew, ew._ "You need to record that song." I choked, trying to keep down the tea.

"But I'm drunk."

"And _gross_ but you can play and sing! Come!" I pulled him toward the bathroom.

"No, no." He declined and stumbled backwards. "I have a microphone in my bedroom. I go get it."

He went. I gagged harder once I was alone. Could I send him off to Sixth String? They seem to like Axel types. Sales couldn't be _that_ important to Will. I began fanning myself to make air.

Nick came back with a pre-assembled recording set and I slowed my fanning.

He set it down on the living room ground and plugged the cord in the power bar that was feeding his ugly Christmas lights. (They were snowflakes and pink; you can't blame me.)

"Testing, testing," he said to the windscreen. The sound of his voice rippled quietly. He nods in pleasure. "Hand me your tablet." He murmurs head down.

I hand it over under my own ribs and he snatches, plugging his microphone into the port. He gets a chair from the kitchen table and sits. "So, who is the girl?" He grabs his guitar and places the groove on the knee. "'she cute?"

"Not as cute as me." I giggled. _Shit._ I bit my lip, realizing I was flirting again.

Lukäs gave me an approving look.

I blushed, "I mean she's seventeen." I tried to cover, trying to look the least bit jealous he'd even asked. "I'd be better suited for you." Fail.

"I'm sure." He cocked his head in pride and went to work adjusting.

My face burned red.

"Alright," Nick said and I switched to the memo application after joining him by his side. I said Whenever you're ready and he started to sing.

Christ, it was like the guy was Auto-tuned. The way he slurred and lisped his words under the influence was almost perfectly sexy. I had to remind myself he was under the influence and that inebriation was not sexy, no matter _who_ was inebriated. But the gloss added a spark to his eyes. Every time he hit a note in third octave he'd close his eyes and when he opened them the browns and hazels would skid together like ground stone and ignite a light. He was going to kill me softly. I was sure of it.

He gazed up at me singing "I'll wear you like a Christmas sweater," winked, and finished off with a whammy. A breath and he switched his mic off.

"Good," I croaked my eyes watering. My God, I was too in love with this man. He made breathing difficult.

Even so he hadn't seemed to notice my distress. "Why is your label's Christmas album so late?" He inquired, moving the wires out of his way.

"The idea was late."

"Ah!" He eureka-ed, a new surge of alcohol hitting his veins. He stood and wobbled a little, giggling at his stupidity. He swaggged over to me and set the guitar down. "It's okay." He cooed.

"Thanks." I said dully. He knew the idea was mine.

He wrapped his arms around my neck, his arms straightest they could be due to my diminutive height. "I _really_ like you," he confessed, his voice ripped. His lips drew a smile.

_Excuse me? _"What?"

He grabbed my face and smashed his lips on top of mine. The bravery! My eyes flew open to their widest as I watched his brown ones shut in peace. The goddamn bravery!

I felt waste grow in my throat, alcohol teasing it forward. I swallowed hard. _No._ I kissed back…hard. I had to; I loved him—that and I didn't want to puke.

He laughed within himself, feeling my awkwardness and kissed harder to my level. He drew back…bit his lips in the corner. "Damn."

I blushed for the hundredth time, this time feeling sick and flustered. "Wow…Wow." I finally closed my eyes and squeezed. He jumbled my thoughts up accidentally, making me breathless and playing Kristen Stewart for a minute. "You and me—um, you're drunk and, just wow."

Lukäs stared, too drunk to catch any of it. "I'm drunk," he professed. And it seemed to be defense because he threw his hands up a little and traced himself backwards.

"I know." My mouth was numb. And tingly.

Nick nodded too steady and came to some sense. "Maybe I should go to sleep." He said.

I blinked. How was I to get home? "Oh, okay." I said regardless.

"See you tomorrow, Miley."

Alone.

"Wow." I sigh to myself.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Gosh, it's incredible how rusty I am. Anyone else catch the rushing, lazy narrative? I'm working on it, LOL. Baby steps. xD Last chapter had just awful execution. I couldn't get through the whole thing without my brain exploding. It was throbbing by the half-point. Thank you for reading anyhow. You're fabulous. **

**BTW, I was out of town at a Living Program for two weeks…'why this chapter took so long. :/ Sorry. **

**Review? **_Update in a few. :) _- RunnSmackk


	7. Chapter Six

**AUTHOR NOTE (THREE THINGS): **

**1. Sorry this took so long. I tried to squish four scenes in one chapter. :p**

**2. This chapter has no Niley (it's a subplot), so skip if you please.**

**3. I know a confused somebody with the names before, so a rundown is in order— seeing as we have 17 characters so far (and counting)**

**- Miley's married name is Blakeley and her maiden name is Stewart. Sometimes she'll take Blakeley but other times she'll go by Stewart. ****Nick's last name is Lukäs. Two people. Miley calls him Lukäs just because.**

**Taylor's last name is Dafford. "Taylor-Taylor" is a stage name. ****Owen's last name is Axel.**

**Daniel (SPOILER ALERT) is Daniel, Danny and Mr. Darling all at once. But don't worry; he won't be back.**

* * *

><p>Justin handed me my coffee—black, just the way I asked.<p>

"Mh," I tipped the cup over my bottom lip. Caffeine hit me like a liquid sun. I squinted, feeling the effects immediately. Eyes shot open and I was ready. I checked my watch. 10:29 AM. _Where was he?_ I tapped the glass. "You're excused." I muttered to idle Justin behind me.

He scampered away. Poor kid. I scared him like a Godzilla.

But poor _me_!I had been standing at the front door of HIDEOUT for 10 minutes. I slept for 15 on the ride to work. I was zombie-like with a batch of papers. I would kill for an intern job serving snacks.

_Come on! _I tapped. "Be early," I said on the 20 year old actor's voicemail. "Be early." _God_, I thanked the Heavens I didn't work with actors. My guy was late and I wanted him with me when Axel's camp showed up. My phone beeped. 10:30.

I cursed and it's just then I see the red-haired boy scurry up the curb. He stumbles over his laces and splats his skinny little hand flat on the handicap button. The door opens. Slowly…Letting cold in. I shivered. Idiot. Just walk in!

He gazes up at me and smiles meekly. I roll my eyes.

The door _finally_ opens all way and he steps in.

"Daniel," he said, voice trembling. He pulls his hand out for a shake.

"You're late." I didn't comply.

"I know—"

"Just come on!" I groaned and led the way upstairs angrily. I decided on the 15 step staircase for dramatic effect. Daniel Darling did not _earn_ the elevator—though I saw him cutely pout after it. It wasn't like he'd ever be here ever again after next week, but it worked. The actor's face was hard as rock when he got off the glass steps. He didn't even take the chance to look at the fish tank view below.

We continued down the hall to the conference centre, both staid. When we arrived we were pleasantly surprised. The Sixth String reps were already seated! I moved in closer to the windows to look in. Renee, Tay's manager was there. Good. But…_Will_. Handing out business cards, mission statements and snacks!

"What the hell?" I watched him smooze around the table of 3 talking and laughing. "But you weren't around last night, where you?"

"Ms. Blakeley." Daniel Darling rang, growing concerned. Damn. I was murmuring again.

"Oh. Right." I straighten my blazer before turning pink and proceeding ahead Daniel. I open the door.

"GOOD MORNING!" I burst, making sure to shout over whatever Will may or may not have been saying. I went around to my right and shook a couple of hands, smile hard. "Hi; Miley Stewart. Miley Stewart."

"Andrea,"

"George West; hi."

Clueless Daniel took this as an '_Everyone'_ thing and went around too. "Danny. Hi, I'm Danny."

Facepalm. "Sit **down**, Mr. Darling." I pressed. I pulled out a chair on the opposite side of Andrea Lattimore and took his fat coat to hang on the back of it. He moseyed over quickly and sat. _Atta boy!_ I pulled out a chair, two away from Daniel, beside Renee, and sat as well. "I see you've already met Renee…and _Will_."

I sent my husband a look.

He ignored me. "I presumed you'd be running a little behind with the gathering of Mr._ Darling_ and Ms. _Dafford_. I meant to entertain our guests for the time being."

Will grabbed his pen and papers and smirked at me. I knew what was coming. He was devious. "Where _is_ Ms. Dafford?" He cocked his huge head left.

I hated him. I really, really did. "She's scheduled to arrive later in the meeting. I meant to discuss the stasis and open possibilities first." I mocked his manners. Then I asked, "Owen Axel isn't here, is he?" knowing I would shut him up.

The reps nodded to affirm me.

"Well," Will woofed, starting for the door, red creeping on his face. "Have your meeting." He opened the door. "4562 if you need me."

_We won't need you_.

The door closed.

I tap my pen on the conference table to calm down._ 3, 2…_"Well, hello again." Professional mode! "Can we state our roles, please?"

Andrea started. "I'm Axel's publicist."

Then George. "I'm Axel's manager."

Renee: "Taylor Dafford's manager."

And me. "Dafford's publicist. And this—" I extended and arm toward Daniel. "is Daniel Darling, but we'll get to him if need be."

"Okay," George clapped. "Owen, Taylor. Weird, huh?"

"Very," I agreed, dripping fresh ass sarcasm.

Was it not him that called HIDEOUT to get Tay on Axel's record, and then made their song a single, and then booked all duet performances, and then their hotel rooms? I mean, Renee let Taylor bring Owen to a few of her concerts and Owen and Taylor were #9 on FL4ME's annual _Bound to F#ck_ List (e. 2010), but Gee, oh, George! How weird did his little plan work?

"I must say," George spoke new, looking through whatever notes he had. "Dafford's record is cleaner than bleach." The manager ran a finger down his page. "Her only bump in the road was a couple of unverified Facebook comments, from four _years_ ago." He was amazed. "Outstanding."

I nodded and smiled, feeling my pride swell. "Why, thank you. Taylor works just as hard on her image as I do." Lies. I mean Taylor loved her followers but she was _not_ happy being conducted and especially furious when I e-mailed her her Probation Notice this morning: a list of public conduct guidelines and consequences if not followed (there were none, really; she was rich and my boss, but I made some up.)

"I'm sure." Andrea mused. "Owen had nothing but wonderful things to say when they met. Said she was as pretty and as composed as a lily."

"Indeed," George tossed in. "It was love at a first sight almost."

I paused, smelling shit. So it was going to be like that, huh? They were going to paint the picket fence picture and coax me into sharing the good light with their little devil. No. Absolutely not. I had already paid this Daniel kid 60 bucks to show up to this meeting. He was going to do his job. And I wouldn't forget the Hilton photos. My eyes still burned from doing damage control all night.

My face fell.

"I'll be straight with you: he gave her the Marijuana." Andrea confessed after spotting my Cut the Crap glare. "He admitted it to me last night." The woman shook in her boots.

I nodded, running this ship.

"But it was _just_ Marijuana. It was bad-mannered of you to imply to the press it was otherwise." Still shaking.

"I apologize." I lied, eyes still tempted.

"He cares about her." Andrea added.

Whoa! No.

"No offense, but I find it hard to believe he cares her when he drugs her up and bangs her." I said hard.

She was caught. She hummed. "Owen is complicated." _There_ was the golden excuse. I didn't think they'd play it so early. I really scared the bitch.

I would give a headache very soon with the act. I may not be the best at my job, but they were too foolish for the effort. So, siiigggh, "I know he doesn't always make good decisions…and neither does Taylor." I consented: my attempt to get us all on a—Gag—_team._ "I understand your position."

George West fixed his glasses and smiled. "I'm glad we've agreed."

We continued to talk like friends and business men about Taylen: the similarities in their images, similarities in the public opinions of each, their timeline, their dates, their sleeping and flight patterns (_actually _sleeping and _actually_ flying), right down to where the both lived—and then in proximity to recording studios. No plan would work. There was no way to keep these two away from each other and no way to make it seem like they were work-buddies.

"There is no damn way we are buying Taylor a parrot!" I cry at the last (and craziest) suggestion.

"Well, we're out of options." Andrea smacked her hands on the table. She sighed aggravated and beat up. "Tell us about Mr. _Darling_ here," she caved with a nonchalant hand wave. She pulled an Aquafina up to her lips.

I pursed my lips, maybe realizing how stupid my plan was next to the others. Equal at worst, though, equal at worst. I'd almost forgotten Daniel Darling was sitting just a chair away. The guy was so quiet.

I looked over. He sat calm and slumped, unoccupied with hands on his stomach. His green eyes met mine and he smiled meekly again, the freckles on cheeks floating upward. Man, he was really, _really _cute. If Taylor didn't take him, I would.

I swallowed my doubts. "My solution is temporary; a quick fix that I'm almost sure will work. Sit up, Mr. Darling."

He did.

"This is Daniel, and he's, um, Taylor's bachelor."

The Sixth String reps frowned deeply. They were confused. Offended.

"Stewart,"

"Yeah, um, see, it's not cheating," I began to ramble, scrambling for my Portfolio Of Actors. _Stay with me! _I found it at the bottom of my stack and handed it to George.

"They're actors to play potential boyfriends. She'll go out with each guy once or twice, giving the impression she's available and checking her options and thus lowering Axel to friend status."

He opened it and analyzed the men in comparison to Owen Axel. He was hard as he started at a half-youthful, smiling Daniel.

"Each of 'em get progressive older, so if Taylen is caught—well, she has lots of older male friends anyway. It's not robbing the cradle." I smiled at the end of my explanation. _Wow, that actually sounded pretty…_

"Genius," gasped Andrea, stealing a look at 27-year-old Stephen.

"Agreed," said Renee, though she had heard the plan earlier this morning.

"Beautiful," concluded George, closing my book and standing. "I should warn Axel before he trips. When is this scheme beginning?"

"Tonight," I affirmed, trying to stay as calm as possible. _Yes! Score! One awesome point for Miley! Whoot-woot!_

"Wonderful," Andrea stood, too, snapping my party over. "Thank you. We'll keep in touch, yes?"

"Every time." I confirmed. I passed over two business cards.

"Thanks again." She articulates. "Should I stay for the run-through with Dafford?"

"No, I'll be fine. Thank you, Andrea. Thank you, George."

"Pleasure." They said, exiting.

Quiet.

I pulled my hair free and nodded 100%. "That turned out well, don't you think, Mr. Darling?"

He didn't care. "Is Taylor is a stoner?" is all he said in his soft, redhead voice.

I giggled, much too happy and take a look at my watch. 11:15. "No. Come on and meet her yourself. I stand and grab my books.

- x. 0. x -

_Please don't be stoned. Please don't be stoned. Please don't be stoned,_ I pray coming out of the elevator with Danny Darling. Third Floor was Taylor-Taylor's sanctuary. If she wasn't already downstairs waiting for her 11:30 meeting she was here, Studio 13, drafting a song. Today was her day off and I felt bad booking a meeting. This would be faster: coming right to her and telling her The Plan. That is, if she is a) sober and b) not _too_ infatuated with Axel.

We reached 13. The door was open. I knocked anyway. "Taylor!" I called softly.

She looked up from her guitar, snapping to reality. "Oh! Hi!" She perked, happy to see me so early. "You're early." She beamed. She happily pushed her thick blonde curls to one side and her bright eyes wandered, spotting Daniel like a tack on a wall.

"Hey, boy," she sang pleasantly surprised, the southern drawl bleeding out. She did a petit wave with a petit hand. "Taylor,"

He was love struck, heart robbed. His green eyes sparkled and his red cheeks went redder. "Danny." he said, mesmerized by her and showing it by swooning noticeably.

I'd caught him. _Oh, boy._

"Hey, I wrote a song," Taylor announced, turning to me now. "It's not record-customary but maybe the _deluxe EP_?"

God, she was quite the planner. The standard disc hadn't even started production…and wouldn't for another _six months_. But she knew what she wanted: what was worthy and what was special and what was to float on a pop album standpoint.

I contemplated it shortly. We had time. "Okay, let's hear it." I shoved my phone in my pocket. "Can Danny join? He's special."

The girl nodded, excited she had a new listener.

Danny and I stepped past the doorway and progressed to our right, propping ourselves up on the 8 ft. table holding the soundboard, me first to give the A-OK. Danny and I shimmied back in unison.

"'Kay," she stalled, pressing buttons on a standup keyboard. When she was all done, she pushed back in her wheelie office chair and glided toward us. She fixed her guitar all nice and went "2, 3, 4… _Dimming street lights, coffee and autumn_ _air / Strangers' silence, think I'm gonna take the stairs / If you were here we'd laugh about their vacant stares / But right now, my time is theirs…_"

Catchy.

"_Seems like there's always someone who disapproves / They'll judge it like they know about me and you / And the verdict comes …_" She paused after a C chord, going a cappella for few seconds and breaking her head-bowing concentration. She screwed her face, stuck. "Urrg! That's all I got." She surrendered, shoulders dropping submissively.

"It's cute," I flattered to not make her feel so bad.

"Yeah," she muttered, feeling defeated. She pulled the guitar off her lap and set it down. "It's whatever." There was a change in her eyes that made 'troubled' or 'confused' but since Danny was here (and swooning like a wordless, adorable doofus) I couldn't dwell.

The blonde artist shook her head of bad thoughts and stood. "Shall we go?" She beamed again, in new mania.

"Um, _actually_," I stalled. "I'd like to the meeting here. It's quick and Danny here is a _rental_." I whispered as a kinda-joke.

"Okay," Taylor sat back down and plopped her hands in her lap. "You may begin."

_You may begin? This little…_I stopped myself, remembering how long we'd been friends. We had each other backs. She was the larger half of my paycheck. _She's dating a jerk_, I reminded myself. "Alright…"

I explained the plan, alliterating that these were fake dates and we were _not_ trying to break her and Axel up multiple times. She had understandable looks of disbelief and cynicism throughout the "meeting" and but gave Daniel caring looks. I finished.

"So you're _not_ trying to break up me and Owen?" she asked, squinting an eye.

I almost laughed. "No," I said honestly.

"And my father did _not_ come up with this?"

"All me."

She looked into my eyes, hard.

I kept my blue eyes lake calm.

Harder.

Calmer.

Harder.

_Calmeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrr._

Her eyes slide to Daniel. He shrugged, palms up, a new poker face in tact.

I might like this guy.

"And we start tonight?" Taylor almost whined.

"Uh huh." Me and Danny said together—him more excited.

Taylor rolled her eyes and placed her head in her hands. She shook her head, her hair doing its own dance between her fingers. "Fine," I said, head flipping up. "Fine." Her hands went up in surrender.

"Yes!" I cheered, jumping off the table and running toward her. I hugged her tight like a savior, "Thank you, thank you!" and released. "You won't be sorry."

Taylor giggled, entertained by my childlike enthusiasm. She smiled her beautiful smile once again "Take your Book of Bachelors," she spat jokily, but literally threw it at me.

"Ow!" _Boobs!_ I smoothened the top my shirt. This was not their week! "Just take a _look_."

"They don't beat my boyfriend!" She moaned helplessly.

My God! "Okay," I hugged the folder closer to me. "Come on, Mr. Darling."

I heard Danny drop to his feet.

We headed out.

"Nice meeting you!" Taylor called after Daniel. "I can't wait to get to know you!…though I wish on different circumstances."

"Probation!" I called.

She grunted. "I love you!"

"Love you, too." I left the door open.

I pulled out my phone and began a review. 11:30. Lunch! I typed and walked with Danny down the hall for five seconds or so before it became trying. "You're done now, Danny. I'll see at 4." He was distracting me.

"Yes, Ma'am." He made a break for it.

My phone went off. Will. I could never be gone for long.

_Hey, babe. How'd it go? ;)_

How'd it go?_ Babe?!_ I looked around. Was I in The Twilight Zone? Will called me Babe…and _cared_! He hated my ass! Ever since I met Lukäs—_Ahh, Lukäs_—he avoided me like Pink Eye and showed me up every chance he got!

My phone double-beeped again.

_The guys and i did hot wings and beer after pool. Got major cramps and slept over. Srry._

He was always one step ahead.

Beep.

_You talk to Will yet? He got major cramps and slept over. - _Frank

Oh, yeah…always one step ahead.


	8. Chapter Seven

_So you wanna do lunch 2day? im off. feeling better ;)_ – Will

Ugh! What was going _on_ with him? Getting Frank to back him up…just for a stupid lunch date? We always ate what _he_ wanted to eat, even when we were married! Hot wings and French fries.

_Im on the road. Already left :/_ I lied. I swiped back to my document and continued walking. I heard the elevator come up and open. Nice—"Ow!"

"Sorry!"

I knew the voice. Last night came flooding back. We kissed, we kissed, we kissed…"Hey," I looked up.

Nick Lukäs swung on his toes, uncomfortable. He pressed his sexy lips together and blew air up. The elevator door shut and he swung again.

"You're…" My lips were numbing. We kissed, we kissed, we kissed. "…early."

"Yes," We kissed. "I am. Will called me to sign some documents this morning. I finished, so…"

"Well," We kissed, we kissed, we kis—You know what? Fuck it. I don't have time for this! I snapped out of the trance. "I'm on lunch."

"So am I," he said and I stopped, finger one inch from the elevator's call button.

"Can I come?"

I bowed my head in utter defeat. _Oh, damn._

- x. 0. x -

I take to him Quiznos' because it is close, it's cold, and I want soup. It was 45 Fahrenheit that morning and air was dry as a bone from all the premature snowing.

When we're sitting down, it's the same as dinner last night: I have nice food (a soup) and he has appetizing _slop_ ('The Traditional': including a number of meats, extra dressing, and a side of chili…on me.)

"Why don't you _eat_?" He addresses our differences this time.

I figure he's talking about the content of my lunch next to his. Surely soup wouldn't full me on _his_ level, but I tell him anyway, "I'm semi-vegetarian."

His eyes grow. "Ohhh," then he fades to disappointment and looks back at his messy, 50 shades of slop sandwich. "So, like, chicken and fish and the boring stuff."

_Chicken and fish and boring stuff?_ "Basically," I caved.

He shrugs, going back to fine. "It's a shame," he says.

"Really?"

"Yuh-huh. I like a girl who can get her hands real dirty!" He picks up the sandwich and grunts from the weight, "Real _dirtayy_." He goes and dunks his sandwich into the chili, spilling it and brings to his mouth and bites disgustingly, leaving no trace of chili behind.

…except all over the table.

I cringe but laugh at his face. "Did your girlfriend get her hands in the _dirtaayy_?" I asked, starting to laugh real hard. There was something endearing about turkey, chicken, beef and chili and Nick Lukäs eating it with tomato sauce on his face. The smile on his face could sway anyone.

He swallowed hard, wiped his mouth. "One time," he says and he smiles harder at the memory. A car goes by. "Texas has this barbeque festival where I am from. My girl put cheese sticks in her Philly Steak Sandwich, peanut butter, thick honey, cherries, on all a dare." He nodded of aging pride. "She's ate it all, Stewart." He grins wider than Demi Munro and I can tell he's 21 again. "We went as Chris and Selena Pérez, you know, before she was murdered, and she literally looked dead with all the barbeque sauce and the red and stuff, she was drunk."

There's a fondness of Texas and his ex that makes brings out the lightest of accents from his lips. He caught it at "drunk", bit his tongue and bashfully went back to the sandwich.

We were silent and he tackled his sandwich and I ate my soup, wishing I could be remotely like his ex. I bet she liked cartoons, red meat, and his brown, unsinkable sofa.

Was I wasting a crush?

"…We kissed last night, right?" came the mumble from Nick's Ranched lips. He was frowning and avoiding eye contact, trying to remember…or _pretending_ to try.

I knew he knew. I work for liars. I questioned the timing, the sincerity. Was my jealousy of his college girlfriend _that_ clear? "Yeah,"

"Good. So it wasn't a drunk fantasy." He looked up and laughed.

"Please. I'm no Texas girl." I ripped.

"Sure you're not." He quoted. "Doesn't mean I didn't kiss you."

I paused. What was his angle? _Every_ angle?

He saw my screwed face. "Not everyone has an angle, Stewart." He read my stupid mind and wrapped the end of his bread and stood. "I like you." He picks his trash up and goes to the garbage.

"…I know," I whispered, my eyes following him.

He slips into the Men's Room and I settle slumped into the chair. _Do I know?_ I sighed. I'm half done my soup so I stir it around in the bowl while he pees. I check my phone's time: 11:52 AM. Shit! I'm supposed to call people here, I remember. Damn, Lukäs. I took one of my—clean—napkins and pull out a pen. I write I'm making important phone calls and leave the table to call a paparazzi service for Taylor and Danny Darling.

"Yeah, I know it's last minute." In few minutes I'm pleading to Shane of LA Weekly out on a patio. He's annoying me so I give him more money than I'm planning to.

"How much is this worth, this _date_? Is she cheating?"

I sighed and rolled my eyes, tired. "You can allude to whatever you want in the article."

"But I need the worth."

"He's a friend!" I interrupted. "She's playing pool and eating pizza with a _friend_. He's gonna drive her, he'll open the doors for her; you can allude all you want."

"Soooo…$600?" he edged.

"A photo?" I gashed. "No!"

"I'm bringing my best camera, Ms. Blakeley." He says, his Romanian accent shining through. "And you said yourself you want it to look like a date."

Ugh! Whatever. "Fine." I said. "Let me talk to Jason."

I get put on hold and Taylor-Taylor's _Fairytale_ plays. I laugh. Wow, Will really paid those pansies. I started to bop, swept away and cold and turn around and I spot Lukäs watching me from the window inside. I quit mouthing the words and blush. He laughs and gets up and meets me outside.

"I got your soup to-go." He stated. He hands the warm Styrofoam to me.

_That was sweet._ "Thank you,"

"Hello?"

"Oh, hi, Jason. It's Miley Stewart from HIDEOUT. I talked to Shane of Me…"

Lukäs takes my soup when he's done with his chili and takes my free hand into his. We begin walking, him leading the way like a father leading his teenage daughter.

"I know right?" I blew. "He was being unreasonable. Everyone's been today."

Before I know it we're back at HIDEOUT and I'm not hit by a car. The photo rate is lowered to $485 a shot but my hands and frozen and cramped.

"Wonderful, wonderful. What time is it?" I ask Nick as he takes off my scarf while I'm occupied.

"12 o'clock,"

I slide my hand down his chest as a thank you. It's buff. And it's with me all afternoon… "Yeah, Jason, yeah." With Demi Munro and Shock, of course, but Lukäs and I are somewhat alone in a closed space for the day.

"Wonderful. So, we'll meet at 5:30 for the rundown?" I ask.

"Yup," comes through the phone.

I beamed. "Great. See you then." I end the call without a goodbye. I bow my head as Lukäs hangs my items and sighed of freedom. _That's organized_. To-Do One Part I for Today: Complete. I lift my head and run a hand through my cold hair.

Lukäs turns back to me and he has a hopeful face. Maybe hoping I'm free now.

"Sorry," I apologized. I pointed to my phone. "It's a big day."

"I'm sure," he says. He hands the soup I forgot about and discards his own stuff, hangs it up. "We're on time; we should head to recording."

"Right," I agreed.

We go to the second floor and head to Studio 9. Demi and Shock are already in there (forever late today) and Shock doesn't look happy. I pause. I knew I sent him Nick's tape. I did. Twice.

I opened the door. "We're here." I announce and let Nick in.

"Blakeley," Shock says hard and I almost wet myself. "I got your tape."

"And?" I choked.

"It's good…" He plays on his wheelie chair and I know he's not finished. "But he's off key."

"Dah!" Nick shucks. "I figured it'd be G#, but—"

"See, it's Miley's fault." Shock says. "We'll have to rerecord because of her."

_What?!_

Shock stink-eyes me and then he smiles at Nick. "Good to meet you, though; Sam Topher."

They shake hands.

"Welcome to the HIDEOUT team. You'll be mediocre." He proclaims as a joke. He pulled his arm out toward Demi Munro and said her name, to which Demi smiled wide and shook hands with Nick.

"How old are you?" the seventeen year old asked, twisting her neck to evaluate.

_My God._

"You can't count that high." Nick said.

I snorted. Shock did too. "Funny bastard." He noted in approval. If there was one thing about Sam "Shock" Topher is was that he knew every curse term in existence. He swore at me in Greek when we met. But the guy was European and that meant he was a kick-ass producer so we—Will—hired him anyway.

"Ha ha," Demi said.

"You got a damn nice vocal tone, dude." He compliments Nick. "I like it." He plays on his chair a little and pouts. "Okay, I know y'all just did lunch, so go get some water and warm up, alright? 10 minutes. Get to know each other. Miley, you're useless, get out!" He mumbles under his breath. He stands and leaves.

Damn! My mistake. "I'm a _publicist_!"…now.

Nick and Demi move but when she left via one door and he led _me_ with him out the other.

"I'm scared." He came out with it. "I…It's-it's too soon."

"It's been 19 years!"

"I know, I—"

"Demi is a goddess…okay? Shock is no-nonsense and pop, but Demi is Nora Jones and Kelly Clarkson in a blender. She's perfect, you'll go great." I get fearless and hug him. "I'll be back as soon as Shock calls, okay, love?"

Nick brought his hands to my back and rubbed. "And then we can talk?" He asked with heartbreaking innocence.

I draw back a little, never leaving his arms.

"You know. For real? No phone calls? No Selena the ex?"

So Selena was the tramp's name. Anyway, "Yes." I said, "Of course we can." It'd be 11 at night, but who needs sleeps with a guy like Lukäs?

...Still me.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Better? I think so.**


	9. Chapter Eight

**Will**

"She seriously blew you off?" Frank asked incredulously.

He was an idiot! Did I not just say that? "Did I not just say that?"

"Sorry, man. Sorry, I just thought…you know, that she was waiting for you."

"I thought so, too." I vigorously shook the Bluetooth into a worse spot. "Gah! You know we fucked the other night? Like rabbits! I made her breakfast, drove her to work, everything!"

"I know," said Frank on the other line. "Crystal was confused, Miley tweeted some lovey-dovey shit."

"I almost had her." I heaved a sigh. I pulled back from my desk and spun toward the window, a clear view of the parking lot. It was dark out. A street light cast a glow on a vehicle. "Yo, what time is it?" I asked, zeroing on a Honda Civic. The only car in the lot, considering our night staff was Chevy-driving immigrants and Justin, the broke college intern.

"Quarter to eleven." Frank answered.

"Really?" I mused. My brows crunched in. "The new kid's still here."

"The one on Miley's tits?" Frank asked.

"Yes," I affirmed. I tapped the window against Lukäs' car. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "I'll call you back, Frank."

"Dude…"

I hung up, not in the mood. I wasn't gonna just _forget _about Miley. No matter what Frank said. I needed her. She had to love me. I had to get away with having Crystal and Miley loving me was the only way to do it.

I smashed my hand on the call button behind me. "Justin Russo, you're wanted." I spun around and soon enough he arrived.

"Yes, sir?"

Poor kid. With his hedge-clippers-cut-looking hairdo and wrinkled clothes. He was easy to mess with. Manipulate.

"Is Miley here?" I asked to make sure.

"Yes, she is." Justin says. He kisses the air, waiting for instruction.

_Good boy_. "Ask Miley if she needs anything and turn on the security cameras."

He hesitates leaving. "Isn't she in Studio 9?"

I knew what he was getting at. It was against regulation to record the studio. Copyright, privacy business. I didn't care. "Yes…And?" I tapped a finger on the desk.

"No, nothing, sir."

I scared him. He clapped into his lap and left my office.

I huffed in the silence. Damn. If this guy was charming my wife I was going to fire. his. ass. I didn't care about the profitability. He had to go! He was ruining everything! I had a good thing going. My emotional relationship with Miles, my _physical_ one with Crystal. Getting Miley to re-fall for me meant she would never find out about Crystal.

She was too much like Taylor Dafford, no matter how much she denied it. She was a fall hard. A _"You make breathing harder"_, Tragically in Love With You girl. I could make her believe Crystal was no one if I worked at it. And I was. But if Miley was falling for Nicholas…He would brainwash her. Without a doubt. "Will is bad for you." "Will never respects you." "Forget Will, I love you."!

That wasn't true. I loved Miley…when she cooperated. She was my partner in this label. Not my equal. She was overbearing and emasculating and Nick wouldn't know that if he fucked her backwards! He was a pussy already.

"Sir, Security Recording is booted. I repeat, Security Recording is booted, over."

"Thank you." I disconnected. I hit my computer, hands nearly shaking and opened the live feed. There they were: Miley and Lukäs, just as I suspected. Laughing.

"No, really, it turned out great. You and Demi sound so good together." I hear Miley gush with a smile.

"Yeah, thanks…" Lukäs says.

There's a silence.

"So you and Vanessa are setting this whole thing up?" Lukäs asks.

"Basically, but there's a lot," Miley explains. "We listen to the whole album tomorrow, with Carly's publicist, and Ed's publicist—you know, everybody's driver…and we fight over which song is best to be the lead single. The artistic directors get the song after that and they write down ideas and stuff—you know, for commercials and posters and that—and it's a publicist's job to set it up."

"So you're _not_ saying it's you or…_us_." Nick's wants it affirmed. The little opportunist. Wants his first song to be a lead single.

"We have 11 artists and I run three of you. It's up in the air." Miley states, "But everyone loves Demi, your song is beautiful and Taylor_for sure_ is not being chosen because she's in bad shape for PR. Plus, you're a shoe-in being the new guy. It's the perfect time to introduce you, Christmas-New Years. Everyone thinks so."

My blood boiled.

"Everyone?" the guy's voice sparked.

"Yeah. I should confess I advertised you in the staff lounge."

Wow.

"Wow,"

My God. I didn't think I could take anymore. She was his…his…master. And his subtle begging for it! Disgusting!

_Mine._

Miley speaks next. "So what are your plans for the holidays? Seeing as this is your first Christmas _ridin' solo_."

"Hey, it's yours too!"

He knew. He knew we were broken up.

Nick goes on, "I think I'm…I don't know. My family's all in Jersey and…" he puffs and says, "I was thinking Vegas."

"You, too?" Miley jokes…or at least I suspect she is. But she laughs and I know the one well: it's genuine.

Good grace, he had her at his fingertips. _"You're single with me! Vacay to Vegas! Blah blah blah!"_ God, this guy! He was perfect for her! Everything I'm not: sloppy, careless, sensitive and impulsive. And he was a songwriter, just like her.

"I figured you spend time with the _"in laaawwss"_." Nick mocks and bile builds in my throat.

Miley responds, nonchalant, "Yeah. They aren't my kind of people. I mean, an apple trees' an apple tree and I'm from one myself, but…it's weird. I'm different."

"Still growin' up kind of.": Nick

Miles (with her breath taken by the relatability): "Exactly,"

I want to stab Lukäs with a spoon just to get the anger out through attempts. I act it out, a pencil as my spoon. Die, die!

"Are you serious about Vegas?" Miley asks.

I stop. _No._

"Yeah. I mean, I'm single and too broke and selfish to buy presents for everyone."

"Me too! Me too. too broke and selfish to buy presents for everyone." She pauses and I can tell she is thinking. "…except you. I'll buy your ticket."

_No! No way!_ My jaw came loose. _No. No. No. No._

"No way! You can't." Lukäs protested.

Miley giggled like the flirty, money-blower she was. "All you have to do is take me with you."

The skank. We were going to my mother's; she promised. We always did my mother's. The bitch couldn't be still angry I skipped out on Thanksgiving at her mother's last week! I was working. And by _working_ I mean fucking Crystal but she didn't have to know that!

She really wanted to spend Jesus Day drunk with Lukäs?

"Wow," Nick said. "You so want me."

"I do _not_!" she protests, badly on purpose.

"Yeah, you do. Ever since we met you've hitting on me."

Really.

"Well, you kissed me, so."

_Really?_

"Only because I had the balls!"

There was a silence.

Nick spoke again. "Look," his voice is lower, almost inaudible to the speakers above him. "I like you…and I know you feel the same. I booked it when you flirted at the subway station. Now, you can ignore me, you can sleep next to Will. But you will not pretend you're not falling in love with me."

That was it. I was done for. He was too forward and she was quiet for too long.

"I'm not pretending anymore," said Nick. "I'm going to Vegas to win you and if you wanna call it something else to sleep at night, go right ahead. …You have 28 days."

I heard the sound of Miley whimper and I have to stop. I hit Esc on the live feed and breathe.

She liked him; that was certain. She was going to Vegas with him; that was certain. And while I had no real reason to, I had to fight for her. There was no way Lukäs was going to win. We still had people thinking we were married, she was sitting pretty—most of the time—on a business standpoint, staying out of my hair with "what's right".

And if people found out she was _in love_ while _I_ had a bootycall—I'd have to come out with Crystal if she did Nick (the horror if she looked like she was moving on before me)—it'd be mortifying. I'd lose my spot here at HIDEOUT. The only reason I was chief is because her parent didn't think she could run it alone. If she moved out and moved on …Oh, God. Oh, God, no.

I grab my keys off my desk and run. I had to be fast. _Romantic_ fast.

* * *

><p><strong>And so it begins...<strong>

**Review?**


	10. Chapter Nine

**A/N: Hey, y'all! Thanks for waiting.  
>I can't help but notice some of you are calling Will…Liam. It is very, very amusing. :P Remember, people, this is not reality. Exactly why 'John's name is now Owen. <strong>_(Besides, Owen is way sexier of a name, don't you think?)_

**Anyway, two POV's this chapter. Nick and Miley. Page break overload! Ignore this one below. Enjoy :)**

* * *

><p>I found myself in a screaming happy mood the next three mornings. I woke up all giggly on my stomach and buried my face in pillow to squeal. Everything was amazing. Amazingly amazing! Nick and I kissed again last night. And this time, it was slow, and passionate… and sloppy. But it was <em>him<em>. It was him in his essence and it was wonderful.

I dreamt about it on GIF-mode all three nights.

I cursed the fact I was off today and couldn't see him. Okay, well, I wasn't _off_ off: I still had to choose the Taylor-Danny photos for LA Weekly, and meet at Fitz Richards house for 4 o'clock to choose the singles, and book the club for the Release Party December 5th but I didn't have to go _in_ to work. But Will did, so I had the apartment to myself.

"What'cha smilin' about?"

_Starting 9._

"Nothing," I said with a smushed shrug. I was too happy to let him damper my mood.

"Well," he said, putting his arm around my back to keep me, rolling to his stomach to get comfortable. "I happen to know why you should be smiling."

"…_Why_?" I say skeptically. He was happy I was smiling.

"Your plan worked!" He burst.

I have no clue what he's talking about.

"I was talking to Kiera in the staff lounge," he explains, "and she told me about your Taylor-Owen plan—with the kid from _Cherry Hills_. I thought it was genius and it worked! People are talking!"

"Really?" I rose up on my elbows. So Will wasn't such a loser!

He reached over for his phone and rose on his elbows too. He takes the phone and taps a few spots. "See for yourself," he says, smile brilliant.

So I do. And he's right! 20-something year olds tweeted they saw Taylor with "the kid from _Cherry Hills_ on FOX" and they were "touchy-feely." He helped her aim the cue! _Awww!_

_**See i TOLD YOU she wasnt with Owen!**_,is going around the Teenie set! _**He's so EW anyway. Taylor would NEEEVVEERR! **_

_**#TEAMDAFFLING**_

I "Ha!" at the gullibility of tweenagers, wishing to never remember being one, and hand Will his phone back.

I shake my head amazed. "Hmm…They should have publicist awards." I dream aloud.

Will laughed. He put his phone on the side table and swung over to his end. "Yes, they should." He agrees, sitting up. Now I'm in a super good mood!

Will grabs some underwear and socks from his drawers and goes slowly off to the bathroom. I watch him, counting the freckles on his back. He turns to me at the door: "Breakfast is ready."

I go downstairs and so it is. Apple-cinnamon pancakes and soy milk. Will was always a skilled cook—whatever he made always looked better than the box image—but when he became _my _cook is a freaking mystery. Last night there was a mini chicken pizza on the counter. It was 11:30 so I didn't eat it, but damn! He was being a sweetpie lately. Took my car to the wash, spread my side of the bed, put the seat down!

I sat and ate the pancakes alone while he showered and analyzed the fabric of my pajamas while he dressed. What was I going to do today? It was Saturday and colder than Space and I was a loser who was broke. I could put up the Christmas decorations though I was sure I wouldn't be home for the actual occasion.

Ah! Vegas with Lukäs. The thought alone drove my mind nuts. He was serious. I wouldn't have the balls alone to go but he did. He did and he chose me!

_Will,_ I thought. Had Will changed? Could I leave him? He seemed like he wanted to repair things, but…

Two seconds thinking about it and my stomach is light. The pancakes couldn't sit well anymore. I stood up, decided to stretch.

I dragged myself over to the living room and placed over the rug, stretched up and arched over with an "Urf!" to the Plank. Between my legs, which acted like satin curtains, I watched the kitchen table glisten in morning light. I see Will a few seconds later. He grabs a pear and a travel mug with coffee and sees me. He laughs to himself and walks over.

"Hey," He presses his finger against my hip and I collapse with a light "Aah!". "I'm leaving." He says.

I don't kiss him so he takes the plunge and on reflex _**only**_ I kiss back. It's so short.

"See ya." I say.

Why does he always leave me on the floor?

- x. 0. x -

Since LA Weekly doesn't email until 10:30, I showered and sat through one whole episode of_ Keeping Up with the Kardashians_ and actually settled in to watch Danny Darling on Cherry Hills; see if the guy really has chops.

He plays a good twin—appropriately named _Danny_—longing after Scarlet Randor, daughter of rich bureaucrat Paul Randor, but his "evil" twin brother Ethan wants her too, but only to get to Scarlet's brother Christoff who sold him bombed-rigged Lamborghini that blew up at the Junior Prom, revenge for Ethan kidnapping his ex-girlfriend-slash-cousin Kimberly Randor, adopted by father Paul after Kimberly's parents disappeared in Brazil. Little does anyone know, Danny was the one to kidnapped Kimberly, as she was his _first_ love. It's so good and deliciously prestigious; I go to get popcorn and peanut butter during the break. I've forgotten all about Will.

It's 10:36 when my phone beeps. I glance quickly—(1) Mail—and go back to the television.

"I love you," Danny whispers to Kimberly.

"What about Scarlet?"

"What _about_ Scarlet? She was my past. You're my right now. Right now, and forever."

I whimper and my phone beeps again. "Alright! Alright!" I turned down the television and found my email from LA Weekly. And suddenly Daniel Darling is surrounding me. I'm being drown in adorable redhead as I watch Danny order nachos with Taylor and undress Scarlet Randor. My head didn't know where to be. Up? Down? Up? Down?

_He's a kid, get a hold of yourself! _I snapped. I tended down to my phone. They were really cute: Danny and Tay. If only she knew, I thought scrolling. LA Weekly said I could choose 5 photos for the magazine article and 38 all of them were going to the site with approval. I couldn't just choose 5. I forward the email to Taylor.

_**Miley, no.**_is all her reply read. 3 minutes later.

_**- Oh, come on! I love him!**_

_**- Me too, but be real. I have a boyfriend**_

I huffed. Owen. I forward the photos to Axel's team to show them it isn't cheating (though the photos I love walk the line) and they email me back saying the photos I love walk the line. I huff again. I choose the boring, innocent photos and finish watching my episode of _Cherry Hills_. I'll save the rest for later.

11 o'clock. Again, I wonder why my only, one girlfriend is 19. I get up and fill the kitchen sink with soap water, throw the dishes in. Time to go Christmas the place!

I only get the first four ornaments up when my phone rings. Yes!

It's Will…ugh.

_I got a surprise for you tonight babe ;)_

Why?

_You going out?_

Why?!

_No._ I text back. _Not till 4._

_Go shopping, love. There's a present a Tiffany's for you if youre Mrs. Blakeley. See you at 6 ;)_

I look at the coffee table and lo and below, there's his credit card, sitting, waiting for me. Oh my God, he wants to get back together! Oh my God, he's re-proposing!

My phone goes off.

_Whatcha up to?_ – Nick.

Oh, dear.

_Nothing yet. I was going shopping._

_I thought you were anti-presents?_

_I am. I was gonna window shop._ Lies.

_Come over._

Oh, yes! Absolutely yes!

_I can't. _I send instead, _I'm working._

_Jesus! Just come over!_

By the message comes in, my jacket's on.

- x. 0. x -

Nick stupidly keeps a spare key in the baseboard around his apartment door. I rang the doorbell and entered anyway. Just as I came in, Nick wobbled out his bedroom, hair messed, eyes red and Batman pajamas still on. He was holding a bowl of Froot Loops.

"You're not even ready!" I burst.

He pushed the cereal around with his spoon, looking at me easily. _Crunch, crunch, crunch._ "…I'm not goin' anywhere." He said.

"Ugh!" I flopped down on his brown couch. Failed since it never dents."How do you live this way? So calm and…sloppy. With nothing to do."

He walked over to the couch and sat on the arm. "I deserve it." He said and specifies, "I _tell_ myself I deserve it."

I looked at him through my bangs as he attacked a spoon of cereal.

"I worked hard as a kid." He chewed.

I don't speak as he chews and the heater chugs.

_Hmmm._ "Are you ever gonna tell me what happened?" I asked as he swallows his fourth bite around me.

"It's only the third date!" He says jokingly.

"It's the fourth if you count the dinner meeting."

He sighs dramatically and kids' cereal fills the air. I like it better than Jack. Better than Will. It's sweeter.

He stands.

"Please?" I beg. I get up and block him from the kitchen. "Please?"

"Miley," he sighs. He leaned down and kissed me. It's sweet with the cereal. "…No." He picks up 127 lbs me and gently removes me from his way.

"Come on."

He's in the kitchen now, making toast. I walked over to the fake window and watched him.

He looked up. "Damn, you're a nosy one, aren't you?"

"I'm a publicist!" I whined, leaning over the ledge.

He pressed his lips together the cute way he did, getting jam. But surely enough, he smiles. "It was 1992…"

"Thanks, Grandpa."

"Hey! You want the story or not?"

"Sorry…Continue."

* * *

><p>"It was 1992. I was four and my family was living in New Jersey, crappily. We were just making middle class. My dad was a freelance technician and my mom babysat. I was the youngest at the time, so I did the least around. My sister worked summers for stuff like gas money, we all bought our own clothes, stuff like that. Like, there was no…miscellaneous item in our home. We didn't just…get stuff. My mom saw this job for a young boy in the paper to do a Froot Loops commercial and I loved attention so I did it. $345 dollars.<p>

And then came Chuck E. Cheese.

And McDonalds.

And Mothers' Day Hallmark commercials.

Don't get me wrong, performing is my calling and I loved it all, but I wanted to do something other than smile and _follow the script_. Then came Siggy Street."

"Were you keeping the money?" Miley asked.

I laugh. "No! I was paying the rent!

"Anyway, Siggy Street and I could play basketball, piano, do everything and act. That was awesome. That was what I wanted. And with other kids. So we moved to NYC and I did it and it became such a fucking smash! Like, it was crazy!"

"It was crazy." Miley agrees. She remembers.

"We started doing season to sell on VHS and by the _second_ one we were shooting two episodes a day. 14 hours. I don't fucking remember making a 4-disc soundtrack but it happened! We did meet and greets, mall tours, all that shit, at six. Six. I wiped my snot on a jacket for years!"

She knew all kids did that, but the lack of Kleenex in winter was my point.

"Shit starting getting outta control, Miley. After season two, shit got crazy."

Miley nodded. "Post-sophomore curse."

"That's the industry term?" I ask.

"It's mine alright."

"Yeah, well, things got whack season 3. The producers were getting desperate, trying to sustain something so stupid, so temporary! They were trying to elongate our success. The people were done with us, but the media wasn't and it was just bad 'cause the girls felt like they were being watched. One girl…" I couldn't even word it. It wouldn't leave. "She went on a diet. She ate Pez snacks and Sprite and purged all day and her mom encouraged it because she wanted to pose for Barbie!" I felt sick again (the story never failed) and sat at the table, leaving my toast bare. "They got cocaine."

Miley came into my kitchen and started topping my toast with jam. "So what happened?" She asked, somberly. This was not the silly second grade, I-pissed-my-pants-at-recital story she had expected.

"She quit the show when CPS found cocaine in her and Mei-Zhen's dressing room. We watched it all go down, Joe and me. And we didn't play cops and robbers after because the girl's mum was fucked up."

Miley served me my toast. I wasn't really hungry anymore.

"Why'd you quit? Because of that?" She asked.

I shook my head no. "No. My mom spent all her time looking after me, the marriage suffered and family fell apart. I wanted to quit before my dad did."

"Did he?"

I nodded, eating the toast to fill the awkward.

"Wow, I'm sorry…"

"It happened." I shrugged. "Whatever."

"Are you good now? Your family, how is it?"

She cared. It wasn't really about the scoop anymore. Had I won her Thursday? "It's good. I saw my brother and sisters a lot after high school. They no longer resent me for ruining their childhood. We hang out and whatnot."

"What about your parents?"

"Well…" I licked jam off the crust. Yum. "They're kaput. My mom took care of all of us after he left and we left for Dallas, Texas. He said some nasty stuff packin' his bag, that guy."

"So you never talk." She assumed.

"Not _never_," I said. "Just…once every three years or so." _Six years._

"So what brought you to New York after so long?"

"The lights." I said simply. I finished the toast. "The Square, the Broadway, hot girls, music, people, apartments complexes, the fact I'd be broke the best city to be broke _in_."

Miley made a face and leaned on my counter. Christ, she was hot when she thought. "You wanted to sing again." She accused, eyes sparkling.

"Maybe I was in _Les Mis,_ and maybe I was not." I answered with a smirk. I stood with my plate. "Now you know my secrets." I end.

"They are very interesting secrets." She says, blinking again and again to not get teary eyed.

I arch past her to get my dish in the sink "Yeah, but it's the beginning. More interesting things are about to happen, yes? And they'll be happy and overshadow the sad stuff."

"You're truly amazing."

"I know, baby." I swing an arm around Miley because I can and lead her to the couch again. I extend an arm to the walls. "These are my role models. Role models, Miley. Miley, this Otis, Jimi, the Beatles and Wile E."

"I'm familiar." She says.

I'm aware. I'm changing the subject.

"Why is Wile E. Coyote up there?"

Hook, line, sinker.

"Persistence," I say.

She laughs and it's like chimes. I have to. "I have a surprise for you." I announce.

She looks puzzled. "Everyone seems to today." She says.

Will flashes to my mind and I shake it off. _I'm winning. I like her more_. "Come, it's in my room."

She hesitates and then follows me in.

* * *

><p>Nick's room is a sissy man's colour (Cerise) but it's wildly sexy with all the baseball and basketball game equipment and merchandise. There is a Nellie Fox jersey on the wall and a jockstrap around his lamp, and a keyboard by the closet. It's hot I get so much of who he is every step, but <em>everywhere<em> is a mess in his home. When I move in, shit's going to change. First, a bigger apartment. Baby has too much stuff for this box of a place.

"'Kay, so," He snapped me back and I realized he was on his bed. He had a guitar. "I wrote you a song."

"What?" I burst.

"So, come on. You like me." Nick pouted as a joke.

I didn't want to laugh because we was going way faster than I expected. 6 days and I had a song written about me. This wasn't good. This was scandalous.

"I'll say it's not about you if you help me." He offered.

"I'm not a writer." I say, though I desperately want to take the offer, even if it's just for _my_ comfort.

He tapped the guitar. "I think you are. You told me so one the _first_ date." He countered, cocking his head.

Damn…I did. I sighed and he stopped tapping. I looked at him. His ears begged, his lips begged, his eyes were hopeful, shining browns. My knees knocked, going weak. I could take him there with his jutted ears and brown curls and heart-shaped lips. God, "Fine." I surrender. "I'll help."

He smiles. "Great. Your _hubby_ says my music is too…soggy, not quite mainstream, but it has potential."

So we work on his song that isn't too corny. I still have sapphire eyes and perfect lips and all he wants to know if that I'm not married. Will's a character—animated for Lukäs Pity. And it stays that way. We rework the second verse and write the bridge and I give him an intro of standard vocables (standard like Oh oh, OH, oh) to refrain at the end…and we're done.

"It's awesome," I say, bouncing on his surprisingly fluffy bed.

He nods. "It's romantic." He stares up from the guitar at me. I blush and start playing with my pants, head down. I couldn't believe I'd looked right into him for so long…writing a love song. This was it. I knew him like a lover and he knew me with all the lyrics I honestly wrote down. This was so good it was bad.

"I…uh…"

I see his skin close to my face. "What?" he whispered all husked.

Something happened down low and I give up.

And soon enough two pink lips are on mine. Moving loosely over each of my lips. I taste his cereal and jam and water and sweetness. I lift my face and give him more area, wrapping my arms around his neck. "Up." I push up hastily and he complies, grabbing hold of my hips. He was still taller than me, sitting. His kiss gets better, taking my whole mouth to work, and he leans down onto the bed, taking me with him. The bed bounces and we make out. Like lovers_._ A few minutes and his hands are under my clothes, my hands are feeling his pulses totally, our hips are grinding periodically. Time goes by slowly and my hair is fucked and lips are swollen and I'm moaning. He breathes.

Oxygen brings me panic. I'm making out with Nick. I'm making out with Lukäs. "Whoa!" I pushed up on my elbows, forgetting I'm on his chest. "We gotta stop. Stop."

"Why?" he came. He was hurt and I could see it. His eyebrows furrowed, the pang was sharp.

"You're my client." I said. "I like you a lot but this too fast."

There's a buzzing in my pocket. I grab my phone. I have to. "Shit." I see the time. "I gotta go choose singles. Shit, I'm almost late." I'm already leaving.

"WAIT." He shouts and it stops me dead in my tracks. I turn around. He looks at me, eyes locked on mine. It's a long stare. Begging me to stay. _Be late…or at least say goodbye._ His hands are empty and almost shaking. He looks young. I hate to leave him like this, beetle eyed and rejected. But I have to.

I leave.

- x. 0. x -

I numb myself in the car with the windows down, feeling brisk wind red my cheeks. Numb, numb, numb. I wanted a heart as cold as the weather. Merciless. While now was the perfect time to be in love with him (revving myself up to fight for his spot on the singles list) I felt heartbroken and needed to desensitize. _This wasn't going work_, I told myself. I couldn't have feelings for a client. I take a deep breath, numbing completely, and drive.

Business only I debated and negotiated like a good scout and Cold December Night was made the lead single. It only took an hour. Maybe I wasn't the best girlfriend, but I was so damn good at playing things up and down. There's a rush in winning you _kinda_ get from kissing, but I'm so numb I don't remember.

I find time to stop by the mall and an employee is waiting at the Second Floor Map. I said I was Mrs. _Blakeley_ (still numb, hahaha) and I'm handed a little box. Booking the venue for the album release party, I got in the car and opened the box. "Yes, that's 50—"

I can't believe it. It's a ring. _"I'll never let you go,"_ it said in gold script. If I wasn't so numb, I'd cry. Will did want to get back together! I didn't know how to feel about this. If I wasn't numb, I would by the time I got home.

Love and cold snowflakes might just knock me over so I climb the front stairs to our building carefully. I'm still freezing when I reach the door. I just knock. It's 5:59. Dinner should be ready, though I'm not hungry.

Will gets the door and he's not surprised to see me. "Welcome home, honey."

Honey. Nice.

He led me into the dining area and there wasn't any food on the table. Just candles and…rose pedals. My grace!

"I see you have the ring," Will says and he's smiling hard.

I sway uncomfortably. This is now a bad day to be numb. "Uh…yeah. It's…something."

I sat down at the table and played with a white pedal. Well, it looked gray and orange with the candles and the lights off.

"I'll be back," Will says. "Stare at the ring."

I do and—_Ooh, sparkly!_—I thank God it's the middle of November and the sun starts to set early. It's very awkward starting a candlelight dinner—_Ahhh, sparkly!_—with sun against the almost naked trees. It did little to shade the room—

_Damn, this ring is the shit!_

I wanted to think about Nick and work and kind of—completely—breaking up with him after 6 days together. Leaving him sexed up and turned on after he told me everything. But my mind wants right now right now. Sad to say I've trained my mind to suppress negativity outside of publicity.

Will returned with a bottle of champagne, name brand, and poured me a glass on the table. The bottle lowers and comes around me and Will lips plant on my neck. They were wet, like he already had some champagne. His mouth moves along and I realize I'm being seduce a lot today.

"How. Was. Your. Day?" Will manages to ask between wet kisses.

The numbness faded a little with his hot breath tingling my skin. I bend my head back. "My day was fine. Good. Fine." I can't think about Lukäs, Will's tongue is good.

"How do you like the ring?" He asks next, this time edging.

I breathe and it's hot. He really, really wanted us back together. He loved me. "It's pretty damn good." I answered.

"Do you believe it?" His hands find their way to my hips. He was holding me from behind. "Hm?"

There is so much feeling come back, I feel now. I feel now and I say, "Yeah."

And I believe it.

"Is that a yes?" he coaxed.

"Yes, I will un-breakup with up." I say. I felt slight manipulate in my dream state. But doesn't know I'm numb. He can't hurt me if doesn't know I can be hurt. I'm just the wife.

The wife.

The wife.

I like that again.

It's easy.

And it stays easy when Will picks me up and carries me to the bedroom for make up sex. Real make up, husband and wife sex. There are pedals all under me and then all over me and feeling comes back and I feel like a woman. A woman doing everything right again. Will feels right. And comfortable. And real. I'm back right now. A 'Crystal' calls Will's phone and I smash ignore because guess what, secretary bitch at Universal Music? He's mine!

And things can't get better.


	11. Chapter Ten

"Smile."

Two weeks go by and things get important and pile up like files. Tuesday is the album photo shoot, and Wednesday is "Cold December Night" video shoot. The video was to be released on the 3rd—another two weeks away—and then the album comes out on the 5th and then Vegas on the 6th.

Alone.

Or so I suspect.

Who knows: Lukäs and I never talk!

"Ed, move left. Wonderful."

I'm not planning on staying the whole three weeks there anyway because I have Christmas dinner at Will's parents' place. I did a good job avoiding Lukäs (even though he never had to come in as his contract begun in January), but now I couldn't. Two damned days straight supervising him. Him going to be here made my stomach flip more than Taylor coming in high and reeking of pot.

"Move the box, I said! Marker, marker! Gosh!"

She, annoyingly, did that a lot lately. Owen had her on a tight leash after the Danny photos caused an ignorance of "Taylen". Her 2013 Schedule meeting was brain splitting, drug tripping, awful: "I _love_ these cookies! Charity for cookies. Save the cookies? OMG, I am so hungry!"

"Miley,"

Vegas won't be like it's a Honeymoon Phrase vacation if Lukäs does come.

"Miley,"

I brought his fucking ticket already and Will is _not_ going.

"Miley,"

It'd be fine if Lukäs goes.

"_Miley!_"

"What?"

"Pay attention, you're selling this."

It'd be fine if Lukäs goes because things have gone to the way they were: Will's my boss and I'm a publicist, taking his "advice" when I can.

"I am, Will."

I cook my own meals, spread my own bed and put the seat down occasionally. It's exactly the way I'd gotten used to it. I can vacation alone. It's like I live alone…but there's always someone to cuddle. _This is what I wanted._ Independence, life, a job and a couple of kisses.

Will gives me that, with no Damsel in Distress Hero undertones. Because I'm not a damsel. So ha, Nick. And you're not a damsel either!

But Nick walks in and I squeeze Will's hand because I'm wrong. He looks stressed and tired and hurt. And he's gotten a haircut! The Jesus locks are traded for easy brown ringlets down to the fore of his head and nape of his neck. He's cleaned up like Clooney! He's an adult. He didn't wanna be an adult.

We're in his background and it feels that way figuratively. He's hotter even though he's sadder. And when he looked around he spotted us holding hands he's surprised for a moment, panged, and then he's shaking his head.

Will swings an arm around me. He saw and he smirked. "What's his deal?" he asks, amusedly.

The kid in him is gone. And I feel like a cradle-robber, even though he is 25. I know for a fact he knew something was going on with Lukäs and me.

My heart beats slower. "I don't know," I lie empty face. The two of us could play this game if it worked.

I start numbing.

"Get Nick Lukäs in make up!" Guy Hicks, Artistic Director shouts. He's been shouting since he got here. There were only 30 or so people, sixteen of which were either quiet (the artists) or painting faces in the dressing rooms. It was unnecessarily.

Darla takes Nick into her room and Guy angrily drinks his water, analysing Carly Rae's makeup. "Her eyes are too light!" He decides and Yolanda takes Carly into her room. Guy scares the _actual_ photographer so much, he never says anything.

"Good morning! Whoa!" Taylor trips over a chord coming out of the dressing room. She says, "Yikes," and finds her place on a red box. She teased her hair with her fingers and hummed an Alanis Morissette song from 1999.

_Jesus._

"I warned her." Will whispered to me. "'Don't screw this up.'"

"So did I." I said proudly.

He snorted. "Please. She still came in fucked. I had to give her, like, 8 Chewy Bars and a Gatorade. …She's still whacked."

I went red, tapped my foot to the humiliation. I never did anything right.

In ten minutes, everything is set. Guy has to sit down and shut up. The artists are laughing together in front of a white backdrop and the photographer's taking pictures while they trade stupid Holiday items: Santa hats, top hats, sport jackets, rabbit ears? (Hey, whatever)

Nick seems to be the center of attention. Demi introduced him and gushed all over like I would. There's a pang of jealousy I feel watching Nick with Demi. I curse myself for hooking them up. He's out of my hair, but he's into hers.

Carly feels his hair, Bridget touches his eyelashes, the guys of Jacques' Toys are showing him guitar techniques and all he can do is slide his eyes Will's way habitually.

"Smile and sparkle, Babies!" the photographer yells and all 11 do so, ear to ear.

Will snickered.

The photographer claps a few times like he's running a daycare and everyone shuts up and Nick and Demi sit together.

"Well, hi! I'm Lorenzo. Some of you know me already."

The boys of Jacques' snicker at Lorenzo's blatant sexuality. I can't stop looking at Nick and Demi. _Is he gonna rebound with her?_

Nick hears but looks over. I looked away quickly and kissed Will on the lips. Will doesn't kiss back. I stop and sit down flat.

"According to your artistic director, Guy, _Nick_—" Lorenzo says and Nick looks back to the man. "Is to be the centre of attention."

Nick smiles uncomfortably, only because I've hurt him. Bridget squeezes his shoulder and he smiles courteously at her.

"'Kay, so, we've got a couple awesome ideas, Guy and I. We're going to have a lot of fun, thinking Christmas _Blast_!"

The shoot starts with a few more candid shots and then the artists are shouted into positions by Guy. They look extraordinarily beautiful when the fans are started. The girls glitter and the guys glow in their makeup. Nick is placed front and centre and never moves. He's always in my view. He new curls wing up in the "wind" and he loves the freakin' camera as much as it adores him. He stayed seated on the red box for 20 minutes, posing and working like a fucking model.

"Okay, looks good."

They do singles and Taylor's bored as hell. Or hurt or empty. I can't tell when her eyes are so blank while her smiles so wide. She's good now but she's puzzled emotionally.

She groped her guitar for a while and then jumped a few dozen times for the photographer. She crashes to the floor the last few times and says some profanities.

Will placed his hand over his mouth to tell a secret to me. "Talk to her. Really this time." He muttered.

"I'm on it." I say and get up to approach Lorenzo. I detour to Renee, Taylor's manager, for backup. She agrees. Then we go to Lorenzo. "What have you got?" I ask.

He shows me the pictures and all of them are satisfactory. It's just a Christmas album.

"She's done," I say. I turn to Taylor. "Come here, sweetie."

She looks unconcerned as she stepped over the chords to get to us. Her heel catches on a plug and she shakes it out, acting amused. I take a stern lead though Renee should (Manager: x100 more powerful than Publicist, however I can reason with her as we're somewhat girlfriends.)

We crash a dressing room and I boot Yolanda out. The door shuts and I take a chair and Renee takes a chair and I tell Taylor to get the high, glossy stool. Placement is everything. "The whole game is to think the client runs you." – Professor of '05. I had "advice", Renee had "suggestions", but Taylor Alice Dafford was going to take them. Why wouldn't she? We're helping _the boss_?

"What's up?" Tay chirps.

I clear my throat. Professional time. "We gotta talk..."

I trail off and can't help but stare at all the Chewy bar wrappers on the dresser. The muffin cups, the bottles of water, the strawberry turnovers. Wooow. Munchies didn't kid. If only I could remember 2001._ Focus! _"About some…habits you've developed."

Taylor smirks knowingly and crosses her arms. "I can quit anytime I want." She says.

I can't tell whether she's mad or joking or what. I shake my head. "I know it isn't my business…but I wanna talk to you about Owen."

She inhaled and held it in her chest. Her eyes flicker from sad to confused to 'Why'? She's troubled at the thought of Owen.

Before she can speak I jump back in. "I just wanna talk."

"What's there to talk about?" she asked, clearly annoyed.

I see Renee side-eye me. I'm getting risky.

"You… and him giving _it_ to you."

"Jesus," under her breath and she stood up. "Nobody has a damn problem! It's none of your business! It's a social thing! It's harmless!"

"Taylor—"

"Yes…We went to Pennsylvania last weekend. Yes, I drank. Yes, we had sex at his friends' house. Yes, okay? I'm a bad, bad girl for loving a man who knows how to _live_! Get over it! Tell people, I don't care!"

She's talking about the lastest scandal I've been losing sleep over. I don't want to ask about what happened after that; there was more to that story that involved smashing bottles, an exotic dancer and Taylen screaming at each other. I could tell Taylor was thinking about it herself, chewing her bottom lip and blinking tears away.

"Miley Blakeley, you're needed back out!" I hear Lorenzo call.

I sigh. "Taylor, Bachelor Number 3 is picking you up after the shoot." I groan out of my chair. I was starting to cramp anyway. Renee leaves.

I head for the door and stop "Taylor," I say and wait for her to look at me.

She huffed and wheeled around "Yes, Miley." She said quietly

"The release party is two weeks Thursday. Please…be sober. Will was very disappointed this morning."

"Of course. Owen's playing in Australia then anyway. …Will gives you shit whenever I'm no good, huh?" She guessed.

It wasn't a guess. "Not really," I lie and shift from foot to foot.

"I think so." She says easily and her eyebrows touch. "He shit talked you this morning before you got in."

What?

"Yeah…I figured you guys were over. Now I know for sure." She ran a hand through her blond ringlets. "You're worse than me and Owen." she murmured.

I ignore the last sentence. Who's she trying to kid? Had she not seen us together in the back? Was our split obvious? Did Will _trash_ me?!

I leave the room. "Will!"

- x. 0. x -

I feel tired and sick and angry on the way to Forsyth Street. Today's the day we shoot the music video for 'December'. Last night was awful. Will and I fought all day; I threw a plate, peed on his favourite shoes imported from Italy. He threatened to fire me to which I retorted: "I co-own the label, dumbass!" He stormed out of the apartment and said he was staying at Frank's until I "calmed my damn tits!". He called me less than an hour later to say he loved me, he was sorry and he was rude. I was perfect and he'd be home soon. I looked at the ring on my finger and surrendered. All couples fought. None had a ring this beautiful after everything.

We spooned last night and it was comfortable…but felt wrong in my gut. I wanted Nick.

I shake the thought and get out the car. The street is blocked. It's sunny out. Crew are picking the last of Autumn off the trees, InstaSnow is being poured on the ground. I take my gloves off and search for Lukäs. He's probably in makeup, I figure. I introduce myself to the directors, cameramen, grips, and reluctantly sit down next to…Will?

"What the hell?"

"Hey, love button."

"Jesus! I can't be anyway from you for two seconds!" I cry by sheer accident. I regret it as soon as it's out. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"It's fine. You're surprised I'm caring. You know, watching you do what you love."

He kisses me and I squint. No trust, I fix on. _No fucking trust._ Perhaps I should find out why Crystal Callahan is calling him. I was sure we'd promised there'd be no contact with anyone at Universal.

He draws away and the door to a house in our bounds opens. Nick Lukäs and Demi Munro emerge in classy attire made Winter-appropriate with a sloped knit hat and scarf. Demi's wearing high-high-high heels because she's even shorter than I am so Nick skyscrapers over her. Will makes an innocence joke about the height difference and then says tall guys can't possibly have a good romance with a short woman. "You'd lose a nipple in his belly button!" Really? _I'd_? King of Subtle!

.

"Don't make fun, Will," is all I say. Will's obvious edging me off of Nick made me want to run over to Nick and jump him, shoving my tongue into his mouth and trying to say "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" at the same time

Hell, _breathing _me want to do that.

Treatments **[A/N: the idea on paper]** are handed around the set and Will makes me share with him (because I can't conspire to see Nick or anyone _else_ if he's watching.) I glanced at his and then grabbed my own from the guy walking away. God bless the right side!

"_Objective: Two singers wait for love separately when decorating Forsyth Street, New York City and in the end celebrate love in older singer's house._"

I shrug. I can deal with that.

Until the "Significant Others" arrive. They strut into bounds and Nick's girl is at least 5'9 and she's 22 and hot as hell! She's a strawberry blonde in Christian Louboutin heels and the tightest jeans I have ever seen. Demi's guy's a nice chocolate brother I'd love to graze when no one was looking. My toes curl. These people brought Heidi Klum and Seal doubles!

Ugh! Too much hot for my not. As if Demi and Will weren't already threats to my plan. …Okay, there is no "plan", but they're ruining it!

The video gets shooting after lots of direction and Nick lip-syncs like a pro. He climbs a latter and drops an ornament on Demi. She picks it up and walks, singing, and video Will keeps kissing my ear and neck and as soon as the bell rings for break I immediately get up and leave. Demi and Nick enter the house. I follow.

Inside the house is nearly empty. There are plates on a shelf in the kitchen and then a living room decorated for Christmas with two sofas, a TV and a coffee table. Simple set.

The rest of the cast and crew push in and soon I'm in a crowd and Nick's disappeared. All I wanted to do was apologize.

In just a half hour lunch is done. The bell rings and the mob mobs out, squishing little me.

Safe.

I look down. Cheese on my shoe…Ugh!

"Miley Blakeley," I hear on my talkie.

"Yes?"

"I called for Nick Lukäs, he says he's having trouble with wardrobe. Would you assist him? Over."

Score! "Of course. Over."

I didn't even bother asking where his stylist was. I didn't even ask where he was.

I started walking down empty halls until I heard grunting and fabric. The master of this bungalow. I knocked ever so gently on the wooden door and his head snapped up from his tie.

"Need some help?" I said nervously. He brought blocks to my throat.

He huffed and looked away. "I looked this up yesterday online. I still can't do it." He didn't answer.

"Do you _need help_?"

"No." He fidget and fidget. "Ugh! Yes."

I walked over and stood in from his face. Nice tie. I touched in gently to not irritate him. "Over…Under…Around…and Through." I instruct, pulling the fabric through the motions. I pull the knot up and my face follows. Nick and I meet eyes. His shine brown in the windowed sunlight and I lose my breath. His eyes go down and stare at my ring. He's pained.

"I'm sorry," I blurt.

He doesn't say anything.

"I am. Really."

"Okay," he says.

I step away from him and play with my fingers. "You look nice," I attempt, "Cleaned up and…adult-like."

"Yeah, after you dumped me I got rid of half my stuff. Weird reaction, no?"

_My god…_

"So, is my trip to Vegas still free?" He switched the topic.

"Uhh…yeah."

"And you're coming?"

I nodded. "Is that awkward for you?"

"No," he said. "It might be for Will."

"I won't tell him."

"Ahh! The integrity just SHINES!" He shouts sarcastically.

"I—"

"'_am a publicist'_? I'm aware. You're a shameless, manipulative, exploitive piece of shit. If only eHow had worded that way"

"Nick—"

He leaned over and kissed my mouth to shut me up. "I gotta go. I don't feeling like being your mistress today."

"Ni—"

"I know…You're _so, so sorry_."

The door clicked shut behind him.

I would've tried not to cry but life was so shit. So fucking shit.


	12. Chapter Eleven

"Today on Mpulse Live we have two very special guests! One of them has two platinum records and holds the Number Four and One spot on the Countdown. The other, well, he's getting used to Number One. People! Demi Munro and Nick Lukäs!"

The audience of teens go crazy as Nick and Demi come out from the neon doors. They wave to the crowd. Demi touches a few hands and Nick follows, semi-nervously. He props a male teen before sitting his glass box of toys. Mpulse was very, very bright.

The female host smiles "Welcome to Mpulse!" she gushed, "I'm Kat."

"Hi," Nick says.

"So, I've met _you _before," Kat says to Demi. "Crazy talented. But _you_." Nick. "Tall studmuffin. What's up? What's your name?"

There are _Wooooh_'s.

Nick and I both went red. But from different emotions.

"I'm Nick," he muttered. "I'm new…ish."

"You _are_ new." Demi giggles. Doing her job.

"Well…yeah," Nick submits.

Kay laughs. "Well, _Nick_. Apparently you are HIDEOUT's new talent. HIDEOUT's a pretty big label. I mean, you got Demi…"

Cheers.

"And Jacques,"

Louder cheers.

"And _Taylor_—"

An explosion happens. Nick and Demi cringe like they're being rained on.

Kat laughs and waits for the crowd for calm. When it does, "And now there is you," Kat says. "You are HIDEOUT's new star, _obviously_! How did that go about?"

I hold my breath.

"Actually—and I think we were all discovered randomly—one of the employees saw me playing on her way home…thought I was good. Gave me her card. It was crazy."

I breathe.

"So you were a street musician."

He laughed embarrassed. "I worked at a JC Penny."

The audience laughed.

"No, but yeah, I was a street musician on the side." Nick kept on. "It was kind of fate that, like, I went out at 5, because I usually play at noon. It was crazy she was there and just…" Nick had no more words. The look on his face reminded me of the day we met: he was thankful.

"Your big break." Kay completed for him.

"Totally," Nick said. "Totally."

Kat is pleased with his answers. She looks to Demi. "_Obviously_, you're the first person who's collaborated with him. Is he this sweet?"

She smiled wide. "Depends on the day."

Laughter.

"He said I was so young I couldn't count to his age. He's 25."

"Old soul." Kat giggles. She's already in love with Nick, I could tell. "So y'all have a song together: _Cold December Niiiight. _Obviously."

Clapping and cheers.

"They love it!" Kat laughed, the not-bald side of her hairstyle moving along.

"Obviously," Nick mocked.

Kat winced. She separated her bubblegum pink lips to smile. "So, it came a few weeks ago, 22 days I _think_."

"Uh huh," Demi says.

"And guess what?" She leans to Nick and Demi.

"It has sold over 500 _thousand_ copies!"

The crowd erupts.

"No," I mouth.

Demi's mouth drops. She knows what that means.

"So here, Nick Lukäs is…your _first_…RIAA Certified Gold plaque!"

"No _fucking way_!" Nick cries. Two golden, three-foot plaques roll out on a cart pulled by a Party Panda and in 8 seconds the DJ hits a bleep to block Nick's "_fucking_" from the public.

Kat gets up and hoists the tall plaques the singers' way. Nick helps with his, knowing it's heavier than Kat herself.

"This is amazing!" Demi says.

"I know," Nick said. He couldn't stop staring at the gold disc behind the glass. "22 days."

"Congratulations, you two!" Kat says. She sits back down, smile intact and waits for the crowd to calm. "So, how does it feel to have a Gold single?"

"Nobody pinch me." Nick says.

Laughter.

"No, really, thank you. I…This is, like, the greatest Christmas present ever. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

Girls scream.

Kat giggles, amused by his Taylor-ness. "Speaking of Christmas…Your song's a love song, obviously, and I think the ALL ladies here are _dying_ to know,"

_She _is dying to know.

"If you got a _lady_ to spend the holidays with."

"Wooooooooh!"

He sucked in a breath.

"…Demi's got Eyan." Kat edged, mentioning Demi's college boyfriend in the process.

_Play it up, Lukäs._

"I, uhh…No." He said. "I'm single. Totally not in a relationship."

"Awe," Kat says. She's so fake. "I'm available…obviously."

Nick tries to laugh, shaking his head at the joke…or what Kat wanted to play off as one. "No. I'm good. I am _so_ good. I'm dating my music and it's good."

He's lying. Two breakups swam through his mind just then and it's clear to Kat and rest of New York City he's not dating.

"So what are your Christmas plans?"

"I'm going to Vegas with a friend."

"A _friend_…"

"I'm _single_," Nick reinforces. "She's a friend from work. Not interested romantically…at all."

Kat lifts a thin-ass brow. "Hmph!" She puffs, half rejected. It sets off a prideful spark in me. "Well, don't come back married, hot stuff."

"I won't. I promise."

"So, Demi…"

I turned off the TV, knowing I was done being talked about. I prayed Will wasn't watching in the conference room at work. Why wasn't he home yet?

Whatever. I was finally alone so I'd started packing for Vegas. Two more day 'till SinCity! I'd bought five dresses and seven new outfits at the mall (Hey! It was a 14 day vacation.) My suitcase was stuffed full by the time I turned off the TV. How I got Will to let me go: the truth. Nick hated me, he was jealous of our marriage and it was 13 nights in rooms four floors apart. I'd call him everyday.

Will had been ultra affectionate since I broke the news. He didn't wow me anymore (because he used that plan already) but he kissed me and hugged me and said, "You're the best, babe" a whole lot. I liked it. Ever since Nick and I fell out he was safety blanket. Keeping me safe and warm and myself.

Speak of the Devil

"I'm home, sweet stuff." I hear behind my ear lobe. He wraps his arms around me from behind. "And I got a surprise."

Oh shit. "I, uh…I know right now. Maybe…later."

"It is later. December 6th to be exact."

I pause. _December fucking 6__th__._ Flight day. Me-leaving-for-Vegas Day. He has a surprise.

This man, this man. "What is it, baby?" I actually chuckle, finding his desperateness amusing. I love it when he's jealous.

He starts to say taking me with him. "Ya know how you always said you wanted to marry in North Carolina?"

"Mmm hmm…"

"Well, I got a booking at NCU to get our renew vows. Right we met: the volleyball court."

What? "I-It's December."

"I know. Magical."

_That would be magical—No!_ "Will, I have stuff to do."

"I know. Which is why I bought you another plane ticket for the 8th. You can still…_help_ Lukäs. And I won't go, just to show you I trust you." He pulled the receipt from his pocket. "See?"

"You…_trust_ me?" I still couldn't conceive it.

"'Course I do! Trust is everything. You trust me, don't you?"

I blink for my sanity. "Not really, if I'm being honest."

He dropped my waist. "What do wanna know?" He asked, voice sharp.

"How come you're late?"

"Frank took me for dinner. I got you a doggie!"

"How come you didn't tell me?"

"It's sushi. You get picky."

That was tr—

"What do you think is going on? You think I'm seeing someone else?"

"No. No! I just…" Wait, yes I did. At least not the kind of 'seeing' he jumped to. "Why are you talking to Crystal Callahan?"

He frowned. "Crystal? Oh, Miley."

"Yeah. Spill. We promised, as partners, no umbrella deals!"

"Miley…" Will sighs and steps away. "You have no clue what Universal is offering us!"

"I don't care! I don't her running our label!"

"I haven't talked to her in weeks!" Will came. His eyes shined, begging me to believe him. "Nothing is being signed. The artists are safe."

I searched for honesty in his voice.

"Crystal was temporary. A relapse in my…success addiction."

I believed him. I spun around and gave him a hug. "Thank you, baby. Keep your head."

"I love our chicks. I feel like a father to them." He rubbed my back.

I found it unique and odd Will talked about HIDEOUT like a funny farm. Chicks.

He released and went for the bathroom, setting his phone down on the bedside table. "Speaking of _fatherhood_…"

"Go shower," I laughed.

Will left. I heaved a sigh. So things were sorted out. He was doing things behind my back, but he stopped. He cared about the label. He cared about me.

At night his phone goes off.

I stiffen. _Wait,_ I think. _We're married._ I snatch the phone off the kitchen table.

"Mi, you coming?" Will yelled from upstairs.

"Yup!" I hit a button.

_Hey, it's me! Wondering if I could stop by Thursday night. Too busy? Let me know. –_ Cryssy.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know, I know. Off with my head! Can I make up for it next chapter? Climax 1 is coming!**

**(And hey to all the new subbers! Thank you!)**


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Miley**

She_ didn't get it_, I thought hard with all my might. _Crystal was persistent! _

The message didn't mean he was talking to her. **_She_** was talking to **_him_**. She wanted Taylor, the label, 48%! Well! She was crazy to think she could come to the album release party and coax Will in front of the press! This was _our_ night. Husband and wife, basking in the glory of having a successful label. All on our own. Crystal was irrelevant._ I_ would share the night with Will. And then to North Carolina to renew our vows.

…Maybe.

I mean, I owed it to Lukäs to go to Las Vegas with him. After I broke his heart, got back with Will, gave him a pitiful apology for it…I owed it to him to at least walk around with my credit card.

I sighed, looked in the mirror. I hoped my surprise for night would soften him up. My tilted my head, wondering what Nick would be doing now. It was only 11 AM. Maybe he wasn't up yet. Nah, he has too many nerves. He didn't sleep a wink last night, I was sure. Today was his first "trial show". (Renee and I pulled quite a few strings to get him out of performing on Mpulse TV. Demi was left to sing her solo track because he "didn't know" his reception yet.) Now he did. Now, he was RIAA Certified-Gold recording artist. Not that he wasn't _before_, but I'm sure it was liberating as…well, Not Nicky Chase.

My phone beeped. **Xcess Interview 11:34 AM :D**

Christ, I am such a dork. I grabbed my keys, straightened my blouse.

- x 0. x -

"…Nick Lukäs. Can you tell us a little about him?"

"Will, you wanna take this?" I asked, smiling fake.

"Uh huh?" he said, confused.

I nodded: a go-ahead.

"Nick…is great. He's another soft-rocker but little more broody than the rest of our artists and he's got a distinct voice. Really stunning. He's think Bob Dylan, Steven Tyler kinda guy. Young, too; I think the ladies will eat him up! He's perfect addition for the HIDEOUT team. We love him."

Maria spins around, her back to us now. "Nick Lukäs is the _first_ artist in HIDEOUT Records' history to sell 500,000 digital copies of a debut single in a month. His single, "Cold December Night" (featuring fellow HIDEOUT artist Demi Munro) is available _now_ on iTunes.

"Tonight he celebrates the release of A Very Merry Christmas: HIDEOUT Records' first holiday collection. Lukäs is alongside Demi Munro, dance-punk band Jacques Toys, R&B songster Bridgette, and multi-platinum country star Taylor-Taylor. Remember, Xcess is _your_ VIP ticket to the party, tonight LIVE at 9. Back to you, Matt."

"The question is, Who is Ms. Taylor-Taylor bringing _tonight_?" The feed shuts down.

The camera shut off and Mary Clare walks away, her brunette locks bouncing to the parking lot after her. The camerawoman follows.

I sigh, half unhappily and happily. Happy because I liked spotlight: the camera on me, unhappily because she didn't ask me about Taylor. And that mean she was waiting for tonight, when Taylor may be drinking underaged, LIVE AT 9!

Ugh!

"Cheer up, button, its lunchtime." Will cooed. "Nick isn't everything."

I rolled my eye—Wait. It was 12. My plan's execution was nearing.

"Right. Lunchtime." I beamed at Will: the wrong man.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hey you! Hit the comment box. xD**


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Nick**

Renée suggested I write my own Christmas song for the release party. I did and it was coming along good but my phone kept ringing.

"Miley," I guessed. I really, _really_ didn't want to speak to her. I was waiting on someone else.

I kept tapping the second fret on the second string. Ever. Ever. Ever. I didn't want to speak to her ever. I was sick of seeing her. Seeing her with Will, crumbling, watching her hurt me. _I love you, I don't. I want you, I don't._ Fickle bitch. My stomach twists thinking about her, tears spring to light, my mouth goes dry.

I can't sing anymore so I let out a moan and give up. I crash to the floor. "Why?"

What was it about her? We didn't have history. We didn't kiss under the moonlight. She wasn't Texan. We didn't know each other more than eight weeks! This wasn't love! She was my publicist.

Maybe it was my Prince Charming Complex. Maybe, because I knew she was married, I wanted to 'win' her. I do love to save women. I saved my mother, I saved Selena…I'd do it again. I loved her. I loved us. I _missed_ us.

"Hey, Lone star…it's me."

"Hey, you."

"How's the Big Apple?"

"Kind of amazing."

"…So I've heard," Selena says with a laugh like bells. "Over and over on the radio. Congrats."

"Thank you."

"Any pretty girls?"

"Not yet. I can't wait for tonight."

She sighs. "I…can't wait either."

"You'll love it. Alphabet at 6."

"Couldn't forget. See ya, Nick."

"Yeah."


End file.
